Rum and Persuasion
by Luvvycat
Summary: Former title: CURIOSITY. When a drunken Jack Sparrow appears on her terrace in Port Royal in the middle of the night, it is up to Elizabeth Swann to keep him safe until he can return to the Black Pearl. How can they fill the hours until daylight? Rated M
1. What Do You Do With a Drunken Pirate?

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

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_**Author's note:** This story is meant to take place somewhere in the gap between CotBP and DMC. Just my Sparrabeth excuse to give Lizzie and Jack a little "face time" alone together._

_If you think that Jack's behaviour in the early chapters are a little out of character, please stick with it ... all will be explained in the Epilogue._

_**Please note this story was originally titled "Curiosity." However, I've since discovered that there are a slew of PotC stories by that name already on this site, so to avoid confusion, I've given this tale a somewhat more unique title ...**_

_Again, Disney owns all things POTC. Not mine. Nope. Not in any way, shape, or form. I'm only borrowing the characters for a little fun. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it!_

_'Ta, and (hopefully) enjoy ..._

_-- Cat  
_

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**Chapter 1  
****What Do You Do With a Drunken Pirate?**

_"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me ..."_

Elizabeth Swann was unceremoniously roused from her night-time slumber by the sound of off-key singing. She had been blissfully lost in an especially pleasant and somewhat sinful dream about her beloved fiancé, Will. Their impending nuptials were a few scant months away, and she could hardly wait to be a bride – to be _Will's_ bride. She eagerly looked forward to their wedding day ... and even more so to their wedding night.

She had just convinced herself that she had imagined the singing, and closed her eyes with the hope of resuming her wonderful dream, when once again, the midnight peace was abruptly shattered.

_"We pillage and plunder, we rifle and loot.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
We kidnap and ravage and don't give an 'oot.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho ..."_

Her eyes snapped open, widening in horror as she realised that she _recognised_ that raucous voice raised practically outside her bedroom window. "Oh, no ... it can't be!" she whispered to herself as she threw back the counterpane. She bolted from her bed and rushed to the window, which overlooked the courtyard of the Governor's mansion.

A full moon hung overhead, casting an eerie silver glow like a rime of winter frost over the world outside her window. Its cold lustre seemed to leach the colour from all it touched -- a ravenous vampire bleeding its victim, leaving everything drained and ghostly in its ashen light.

Elizabeth couldn't suppress a little shiver as she glanced up at that glistening orb. Once, she had been able to behold the moon with unabashed wonder and delight, revelling in the imagined feel of its gentle light caressing her body, whisper-soft, like the sigh of a lover's breath upon her pale skin.

In the years since she and her father had arrived in Port Royal, she had grown to love the night, and the freedom it represented. In the cool velvet of the Caribbean night, she could at last escape the day's cloying tropical heat, loose herself from the torturous prison of her constricting stays, cast away all pretences along with her damned corset, and finally be _herself_. She could set aside the charade of being the oh-so-proper daughter of Governor Weatherby Swann, forget for the moment the commitments, burdens and responsibilities that came with that role, and be alone with her thoughts. During those blessed hours of night, the moon, her only confidante and truest friend, had listened silently as she poured forth the deepest secrets of her soul ... sharing all her fondest dreams, wishes, and desires.

However, that had regretfully changed that one terrifying night on the _Black Pearl_ when the moon had been exposed for the sorceress she truly was, her eldritch light transforming Hector Barbossa and his cursed pirate crew into ghastly undead creatures, their flesh and clothing magically melting away to bleached bone and rags before Elizabeth's horrified eyes. Now, she could no longer look upon the moon as the benign, beautiful, and wondrous thing she had once thought it to be. Ever since that night, there came upon her, unwelcome and unbidden, a touch of apprehension as each full moon approached, despite Elizabeth's best efforts to deflect it with logic and reason.

Now, as she gazed down at the terrace, the betraying moon revealed to her eyes a familiar figure, tottering into view ... not a skeletal apparition, thankfully, but one that filled her with a feeling of dread nonetheless ...

_"We're rascals and scoundrels, we're villains and knaves.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
We're devils and black sheep, we're really bad eggs.  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho ..."  
_

"Good lord!" she whispered to herself, "The man must be utterly mad!" Spurred by panic, she hastily flew around the room, flinging open wardrobe doors and bureau drawers, tugging on garments willy-nilly ... whatever readily came to hand. She made a half-hearted attempt at doing up her own corset without the accustomed assistance of her lady's-maid Estrella, then gave up in frustration, leaving the lacings to dangle half-strung down her back as she carelessly threw a loose-fitting frock over it. She flung a shawl around her shoulders, slid her feet into her bed slippers, and hastened from the bedroom.

Furtively, she crept down the stairs, as quickly and as silently as she could go, not wanting to rouse the household. As luck would have it, she saw nary a servant as she made her way through the house and out the French doors leading to the courtyard.

_"We're beggars and blighters and ne'er do-well cads,  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
Aye, but we're loved by our mommies and dads,  
Drink up me 'earties, yo ho.  
Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!"_

There he was, large as life and twice as loud, in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, hat and coat nowhere to be found. "Captain Sparrow!" she hissed _sotto voce_, not daring to raise her voice above a hoarse whisper, despite the fact that, with his infernal caterwauling, he had already been making noise enough to wake the dead. "What are you doing here? Don't you know there is still a sentence of death on your head!"

But he seemed oblivious to her warnings ... indeed, to her very presence. He was plainly drunk ... very much so! Clutching a mostly-empty rum bottle in one fist, he tried to execute a jaunty jig-step, staggered, and very nearly ended up flat on his backside. Only an uncanny sense of balance, no doubt borne of endless hours spent on swaying ship decks, saved him from tumbling into the hedge.

She saw a light out of the corner of her eye, and noticed that a lamp had come up in the servants' quarters. _Oh no ... just what I need! _she thought in dismay.

Since verbal admonishments were having no effect, clearly a more direct, hands-on approach was called for. She moved quickly to the wobbly pirate and clamped her small hand over his mouth. His watery gaze slid over her with not even a glimmer of recognition.

This close, she practically choked at the smell of him. He simply reeked of a miasma of unpleasant odours ... cheap rum, old sweat, a hint of wet dog, and the overwhelming stench of dead fish.

Her first instinct was to bundle him into the house, before his antics attracted unwanted attention, but she quickly realised what a mistake that would be. A fugitive pirate – and a loudly drunken one at that! – in the Governor's mansion? Her father would die of apoplexy, once he heard! He had been willing enough to turn a blind eye when she and Will had conspired to rescue the condemned captain of the _Black Pearl_ from the gallows, partly due to the fact that the pirate _had_, after all, once saved his daughter's life. However, there were limits even to her father's generosity, and his willingness to bend the law for his daughter's sake.

"Captain Sparrow!" she hissed again, more urgently. "You _must_ be quiet! _Please! _For pity's sake!"

At last, her plea appeared to penetrate his drink-muddled brain, and his unfocused gaze finally came to rest (after a fashion) on her. His kohl-smudged eyes widened slightly as he took in her state of dishabille – the results of her hasty, and not very effective, attempts at dressing in the dark – and a slow smile spread across his face, the moonlight sparking brightly off his gold teeth even as a fire of a more earthy nature lit his deep brown, nearly-black eyes. "Well, aren't you a pretty picture, luv. Why don't you come here, and give us a kiss ..."

She sidestepped his touch -- a manoeuvre she had learned from their past encounters. "Oh, no you don't! If you will pardon my directness, Captain Sparrow ... you stink to high heavens! Whatever have you fallen into? And when was the last time you had a proper bath?" Her nose wrinkled in distaste, and she had to fight a wave of nausea.

He swayed again, his eyes narrowing as he peered once more at her. "Do I know you from somewhere, luv?" His eyes lost their focus again, drifting right and left. "And your two lovely sisters as well? All three of you look somewhat familiar ..."

Elizabeth realised that he did not recognise her – not surprising, given the massive amounts of rum he must have imbibed this night, and his current advanced state of inebriation.

His eyes widened in carnal delight. "Triplets, eh? I've never had triplets before! Twins, yes, but ... well, let's just say this could prove to be a rather unique, and quite educational, experience." He jangled a leather pouch dangling from his belt, the clink of coins within unmistakable, and smiled lasciviously. "What say the three of you and I make a little business arrangement ... to our mutual -- er, _collective_ -- benefit and pleasure?"

As the implication of his words sank in, Elizabeth's face flushed bright red and she very nearly slapped him. How _dare_ he take her for some cheap wharf doxy -- or, worse yet, three cheap wharf doxies! Though she – only just – restrained the urge to knock some sense into his addled brain by way of a well-propelled hand against his cheek, she _did _give him a vigorous shove that sent him back-pedalling toward the hedge ...

He juggled the bottle and clutched it protectively to his breast. "Save the rum!" he slurred as he toppled arse-over-kettle over the shrubbery.

At that moment, one of the housemaids, lamp in hand, appeared at the terrace door. "Miss Elizabeth?" she called out tentatively, "Is that you out there?"

Glad that Jack was, for the moment, out of sight, and blessedly silent for once, she hastened back to the door. "Yes ... I'm here. What is it, Lily?"

"Oh, thank goodness ... when I didn't find you in your room, I feared something 'ad 'appened to you." She paused when a rustling in the bushes caught her attention. "'Ere," she said, "Is there someone out there with you?"

"No, of course not ..."

"Well, Miss, there's someone at the door askin' to see you, and 'e seems quite insistent. I wouldn't let 'im in, bein' it's so late and your father is away, but I said I would fetch you down. He says it's rather urgent ..." Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air. "Beg pardon, Miss ... but do you smell somethin' ... odd?"

Elizabeth played innocent. "Odd? Whatever do you mean?"

"Phew! It smells a bit like the fishmonger's dustbin out 'ere!" she declared, then shrugging, turned back to the house.

Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Jack was still safely invisible, Elizabeth followed the maid back inside. Pulling her shawl more closely around her, she made her way to the front door, drew a deep breath to calm her jangling nerves, and opened it a crack. A young man, in naval attire, stood just outside.

"Yes?" she questioned, as the young sailor turned to her. "What is the matter? What did you have to tell me that could not wait until morning?" she said with an abruptness bordering on rudeness.

"Miss Swann ..." he began, then paused as he noticed her mismatched clothing and slightly dishevelled state. Even in the wan moonlight, she could see him blush as scarlet as his uniform coat. "Beg pardon for disturbing your rest so late at night, Miss, but the Commodore sent me. He wanted me to let you know ... the _Black Pearl_ was sighted tonight a few miles off the coast. Naturally, the Commodore and his crew have taken the _Dauntless _and gone in pursuit, but, to ensure your safekeeping, he's taken the liberty of posting a dozen of his best men around the house ... in case any of the pirate crew have come to shore."

Given that the _Pearl_'s drunken captain was now on her terrace, happily passed out in the hedgerow, the news came as no great surprise to Elizabeth. "I see," she said tersely, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the messenger, not to mention the extra guards. "I am very grateful for his concern, however I hardly think it's necessary ..."

"Oh, but those are his orders, Miss Swann. The Commodore said he promised your father that he'd look out for you while the Governor was away, and he was quite firm that we were to stay until morning ..."

Her heart sank. This complicated the situation no end. How could she hope to sneak Jack out now, with all those extra guards present? "Very well. You must do as commanded, I suppose. Thank you, and the Commodore, for the kind consideration," she ground out through clenched teeth. Before the man could speak further, she shut the door in his face, with a bit more force than necessary.

The maid, who had clearly been close by, listening, once again appeared. "Miss?" she asked.

Elizabeth sighed. "It would appear we are under protective house arrest for the remainder of the night, courtesy of Commodore Norrington. Apparently, pirates have been spotted nearby, and he's taking no chance of me being kidnapped again."

She thought of James, and the changes the past several months had wrought in him. Hunting the _Black Pearl – _and its captain – had become an obsession with her former fiancé. For five months straight after the aborted hanging, he had been at sea, chasing the black-sailed ship from place to place, intent on capturing her and her eccentric master. Each time he returned to Port Royal, after having had the _Pearl _elude him once again, he sank into a deeper and deeper despair.

Elizabeth realised it was all a matter of pride with James. He saw himself as the scourge of piracy, determined to wipe it from the face of the earth. "_Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them_," he had told her, all those years ago on the deck of the _Dauntless_, when he was a young naval Captain, and she only twelve years old. "_I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag, or wears a pirate brand, gets what he deserves: a short drop and a sudden stop." _That was the creed by which James lived, and the reason he pursued Jack Sparrow with a single-minded determination bordering on the maniacal. Each thwarted attempt at capturing the elusive pirate and his ship eroded the image he had of himself as the saviour of the seas.

On top of that, Jack Sparrow had, time and again, outwitted and humiliated James in front of his men – escaping him, albeit briefly, on the docks that first day by using her as a hostage; and, later, stealing the _Interceptor _practically from under his nose. Not a man to take slights lightly, the vendetta had become deeply personal to James, to the point where he had vowed that, should he continue to fail in apprehending Jack Sparrow, he would resign his commission in defeat and disgrace. She hoped against hope that it wouldn't come to that. The Royal Navy was James' life, and to lose that, she felt, would utterly destroy the proud man that he was.

After making sure that the maid had returned to her room and bed, Elizabeth grabbed an oil lamp and returned to the terrace. To her great relief, Jack was still where she had left him, sprawled on his back, snoring softly behind the hedge, rum bottle clutched to his bosom.

But that left her in a quandary. Just what _was_ she to do with him? She couldn't bring him into the house, or her father was certain to find out. There were also the servants to consider; she could hardly conceal Jack's presence from them, and how could she be certain one of them wouldn't run and alert the authorities? After all, it had been less than a year since the house was invaded by Hector Barbossa's men, who had proceeded to murder their manservant in cold blood and abduct Elizabeth. That disturbing event was still fresh in everyone's memories, and the servants were sure to be skittish about the presence of a pirate in the house.

However, trying to sneak him off the grounds was definitely out of the question as well, given the fact that James had posted guards around the house to "protect" her from the pirates.

_Typical James, always just one step behind, _she thought, a bit unkindly. _Once again, he's barred the harbour after the invaders have already slipped in._

She couldn't risk them capturing Jack and taking him to his postponed appointment with the hangman. Despite the strange adventure they had shared the previous year, the duplicitous Jack had, in the end, proven himself a good friend to Will, and to herself -- in his own way. Not that she entirely trusted him -- he _was_ a pirate, after all, and she wasn't _that_ naïve! -- but she couldn't in good conscience let him hang ...

Sighing, she stooped beside the dozing pirate, the circle of lamplight casting a warm glow upon rugged features now slack in alcohol-soaked slumber. "Captain Sparrow!" she called quietly, reaching out to shake him by the shoulder. "Captain Sparrow ... please, you must wake up and come with me ..."

When he failed to respond, an idea occurred to Elizabeth. Carefully, she pried the rum bottle out of his hands -- a daunting task, since even in his sleep he seemed loath to relinquish possession of it. Uncorking it, she tilted the bottle until she could dip her fingers into the amber liquid. Bringing her dripping fingers to his mouth, she wet his lips with the rum, then waved her fingers under his nose. _Better than sal volatile! _she thought as his nostrils flared, and his tongue eased out to lap at his rum-moistened lips.

Using the rum as a lure, she was at last able to rouse him sufficiently to get him to his feet ... more or less. But what now? Where could she put him until the troops left at dawn?

As she drew closer and put one arm around his waist to help steady him, her senses were again overwhelmed by the grossly unpleasant smell rising from him, causing her stomach to roil.

Wherever it was, she had to get him out of there, soon. She couldn't very well keep his presence a secret, not with him reeking like a rubbish tip, only a stone's throw from the house ...

A sudden inspiration struck her. She recalled that the groundskeeper was away for a few days to attend to his sick mother. His cottage would be the perfect place to hide Jack for a few hours! It was far enough from the main house to be away from prying eyes, sufficiently isolated to squirrel away one inebriated pirate captain for the night.

With his arm slung around her shoulders, the rum bottle tucked securely inside Jack's loose shirt, and her right arm firmly braced around his waist, she raised the lamp in her left hand and started coaxing the semi-conscious pirate toward the cottage ...

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_**AN: Sal volatile** is the 1600's name for smelling salts, a term which didn't come into usage until roughly the 1830's, several decades after this story takes place._


	2. Captain Jack Takes a Bath

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

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**

Chapter 2  
**Captain Jack Takes a Bath**

Elizabeth eased open the cottage door. Holding the lamp aloft, and straining under the weight of Jack, whom she still clasped round the waist, she surveyed the room about her.

The cottage was simply furnished, the single large room being comfortably appointed with a plain plank table and two equally plain chairs at its centre, a basic bed and wardrobe against one wall, and a large fireplace dominating the wall opposite the door. The fireplace was designed to provide light and heat for the cooler Caribbean nights, and also served as a makeshift kitchen, for a fair amount of cooking could be done on its hearth. The cottage would never have served the needs of a full family, but it was quite well-suited as bachelor quarters.

Elizabeth deposited Jack in one of the two chairs, where he lolled like a marionette with its strings cut. She placed the lamp on the rough-hewn table, turned the wick up to increase the illumination, then retrieved two additional lamps from the mantel. Once the room was aglow with the flickering light of all three lamps, she set her efforts toward building a fire. Luckily, the groundskeeper had laid in an ample supply of firewood, neatly stacked beside the hearth, and before long, Elizabeth had a cosy blaze crackling in the grate.

Draping her shawl over the back of the second of the two chairs, she looked at the tidily-made bed ... then turned her sights to the eminently _untidy_ pirate slumped in the chair. Her sensibilities quailed at the thought of sullying the crisp, clean sheets with Jack's decidedly unclean and malodorous body ...

A further search of the quarters revealed a large iron pot, which she quickly filled with buckets of water from the pump behind the cottage and set on the grate to heat. A sizeable wooden washtub, large enough to hold a grown man – presumably intended to serve as both bathing and laundry facilities for the occupant – was dragged in and placed before the hearth. She filled the washtub partway, alternating buckets of cool water from the yard pump with hot water from the pot, until the temperature was just right. She found bathing supplies – a stack of neatly-folded bath sheets and a small quantity of bar soap – in a small cupboard.

When all was ready, she topped off the pot on the hearth with more water, then went to Jack and carefully removed his sword, as well as the pistol and knife stuck into his wide belt, then bent to divest him of his boots, belt, sash and waistcoat.

She eyed the heavily soiled, voluminous shirt – which she presumed, ages ago, had once been white – considered for a moment, then with a shrug removed it as well. After all, having spent time on a pirate ship, it wasn't as though she'd never seen a man's naked chest before. Holding the shirt well away from her, as if fearful of contamination, she placed it in the cauldron and, borrowing Jack's knife, added a healthy dose of soap shavings to the hot water. At last, she had Jack down to nothing but breeches, and that was as far as she dared go ... he would just have to go into his bath as he was, breeches and all!

Now to the daunting task of manoeuvring him into the tub.

Elizabeth looked down at her dress, which was already somewhat worse for the wear from her struggle getting the dead-drunk Sparrow to the cottage. She was dismayed to discover that it was one of her favourite day-frocks, one her father had given her on her last birthday -- quite pretty and fragile, fashioned from layers of gauzy fabric and cut in the Grecian style, loosely-fitted with a draped rather than fitted bodice, one of the few dresses in her wardrobe she could wear without a tightly-strung corset.

In her frantic haste, she had had the misfortune to grab the least durable and most impractical dress she owned. As it was one of her father's favourites, and one he requested she wear with some frequency, she was reluctant to inflict further damage upon it. Should it get ruined, she knew her father would question its sudden absence from her wardrobe, and how then could she explain that?

Noting that Jack was still, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world, she sighed and started undoing the fastenings of the dress, until she was clad in only her loosely-laced corset and long, sturdy cotton shift. She draped the dress carefully over the chair already holding her shawl.

She looked down at the dozing pirate, and tried to determine the best approach to getting him into the tub. Stooping, she leaned close to Jack. The intensity of the stench clinging to him lent her the strength and determination to accomplish her task. Now that she had more ample lighting, she could actually see little bits of rubbish clinging to his dreadlocks. Perhaps he really _had _fallen into a dustbin!

Manipulating his boneless limbs, she managed to drape each of his arms over her shoulders, then wrapped both her arms around his waist. Leaning back again, she tried to use her weight to lever him into a standing position. It took a couple of attempts, but she was at last able to get him up and out of the chair.

For one heart-stopping moment, his greater weight almost caused her to fall backwards, but she quickly repositioned her feet, shifting her right leg back to serve as a brace. She swayed slightly as she worked to realign her centre of balance to accommodate the added burden of a second person, and for a moment they stood poised, locked in an awkward embrace like a pair of particularly inept, and slightly tipsy, dancers.

Slowly, bearing most of his weight, she "walked" him back toward the washtub, then eased him down until he was sitting on its edge. Supporting him with only one arm, she used her other to lift his leg over the edge and into the tub. She repeated the process to get his other leg in as well.

As his second foot hit the water, Jack came partially awake, but only long enough to shout slurringly, "Man the buckets, mates! We're takin' on water!" before his legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees, sending a small tidal wave of bathwater sloshing over the edge of the tub. From this kneeling posture, she was able to lean him back into a reclining position without much difficulty, his head coming to rest on the tub's lip.

She had finally managed to get the drunken pirate immersed in the hot water, but in the course of her efforts, she had become thoroughly soaked herself. Her drenched corset and shift clung to her feminine curves like a second skin, the water rendering the fabric translucent.

Looking down at her sopping wet clothing, she was suddenly reminded of the very first time she had met Captain Jack Sparrow – when, overcome by heat and unable to breathe due to her unbearably tight corseting, she had tumbled from the battlements of Fort Charles, into the sea. She would surely have drowned then, had not Jack plunged in after her, relieved her of the sodden gown whose weight threatened to pull them _both_ to the bottom of the harbour, and hauled her safely back to the surface. Cutting her free from the constricting corset had, literally, returned breath to her body, and brought her back to life ...

Of course, that encounter _had _ended with Jack wrapping a manacle chain around her neck and using her as a hostage to try to make good his escape from the authorities. But, when it came down to it, he _was_ a pirate, after all, so allowances had to be made ...

When she looked back at Jack, his eyes were still closed, and he looked all the world like he was sleeping rather than passed out in a drunken stupor. Unobserved as she was, she took the opportunity to give a more thorough visual examination of the pirate.

The face, now relaxed in rum-induced repose, was swarthily handsome – at least what one could see of it under facial hair, headwrap, and the mass of dreadlocks framing it. Though wiry in build, what muscles he had appeared to be hard and well-formed. She fought the temptation to touch him to find out if that was, indeed, the case.

Ever since that day on the rum-runner's island, when all her childhood illusions about the fabled Captain Jack Sparrow had been rudely shattered, she was mystified to find those illusions suddenly transformed into dreams of a decidedly more adult nature. She could not refrain from blushing as she recalled the role he had played from time to time in some of her more fevered fantasies and darker daydreams. Of course, she would never, _ever _admit that to anyone – especially not to Jack, who had a healthy enough ego as it was … or, for that matter, to Will, who would no doubt be wounded that any man other than him dared to enter her dreams!

Fantasies notwithstanding, she loved Will Turner, no doubt about that ... and had done so ever since first laying eyes on him – a half-drowned boy of twelve, fished out of the ocean that fateful day nearly nine years ago, when the _Dauntless_, en route to Port Royal, happened upon the burning wreckage of a merchant ship. The childhood affection they had shared had only transformed and grown stronger over the passing years. As far as she was concerned, Will was her One True Love.

But Jack intrigued her in a way that Will didn't. If Will was an open book to her, then Jack Sparrow was definitely a deep, dark mystery. That part of her that craved freedom, adventure, and worldly knowledge was, she had to reluctantly admit, powerfully drawn to the pirate. Though on the surface she had ever shown Captain Sparrow a face of disdain and disinterest, she couldn't deny the illicit thrill she felt whenever she turned to catch his exotic kohl-lined eyes regarding her with a more-than-casual interest, his crooked golden smile promising ... something ... beyond her wildest imaginings.

Will and Jack. The two, if she could somehow combine them into one person, would be the perfect man for her. But separately, each lacked certain qualities that completed her picture of the ideal mate. Would that Will possessed a bit more of Jack's spirit of adventure, his unpredictability, his innate cleverness, and Jack more of Will's sense of honour, his trustworthiness, his purity of heart.

At twenty-one, Will still had the shine of youth and a sea of endless possibilities stretching before him, while Jack – whom she reckoned to be about twice her age – was more worldly-wise and consequently had a much keener grasp on the realities of life. She could only guess at the things those dark, mysterious eyes had seen over the years.

And that stirred within her an insatiable curiosity.

Elizabeth had always been fascinated with pirates, as far back as she could remember, an enduring, almost obsessive love that stretched back even farther than her long-held affection for Will. As a child, she had been drawn to the romance of piracy, and had been particularly fond of the epic and fantastic tales concerning a certain near-legendary pirate captain and his magnificent and miraculous raven-sailed ship, the _Black Pearl_. She had always longed to meet a real pirate, and often imagined how it would be to sail under a pirate flag ... to experience the thrills, the danger, the excitement -- living on the edge, taking life as it came, without apology or regret, answerable to no-one and doing whatever she damn well pleased ...

Of course, now that she had spent some time on an actual pirate vessel, rubbing shoulders with real live (or, in some cases, real _undead_) pirates – some of those long-held girlish fancies had been cruelly dispelled by the cold harsh light of reality, the romance lost amid the horror of violent deaths witnessed, washed away in the tide of mortal blood spilled by men both good and evil.

But not all of those fancies had passed. They clung tenaciously, like a barnacle to a ship's hull. The same indomitable spirit that had led her to a lifelong fascination with pirates still dwelt in her breast, unquelled despite the rigours of their recent strange adventure. Oddly, she had never felt so alive, so exhilarated as when she was caught up in the throes of that adventure, danger and fear making the blood fairly sing through her veins. And, on some level, she knew the reason for that. Beneath the outer trappings of silk and lace, polite gentility and ladylike demeanour, beat the heart of a true pirate ...

And Captain Jack Sparrow seemed to recognise, acknowledge, and accept that, in a way that Will simply did not. Will had grown up with a deep hatred of pirates, little knowing that his father, in truth, had been one. And his rancour had been well-founded, considering it had been the Barbossa-helmed _Black Pearl _that had been responsible for the destruction of the merchant ship on which young Will had been travelling. Elizabeth had seen with her own eyes the black-sailed ship, rising like a phoenix out of the smoke and fog surrounding the burning wreckage, the Jolly Roger proudly displayed atop its mizzen mast ...

Sighing at the memory, she reached for a cake of soap, dipped it in the water, and had soon worked up a quantity of lather between her palms. She hesitated a moment, then tentatively reached out to gently soap the exposed portion of Jack's chest. As she did so, her fingers moved to trace the intricate and curious pattern of tattoos which adorned his chest, back, and arms.

With a boldness of which she never would have been capable, had the pirate been awake and aware, she allowed her soapy hands to explore the tanned topography of Jack's torso. Her touch found and lingered on the scars dimpling his flesh here and there, and she wondered briefly how he had received each one. She knew there must be stories here -- strange, thrilling, and perhaps tragic tales -- chronicled indelibly upon the living, mortal parchment of his skin.

When Jack had first shown her his scars, on the island on which they had been marooned by Hector Barbossa, he hadn't elaborated as to their origins, nor had she pressed him for explanations. She now regretted the lost opportunity. At the time, though, she had been filled with anger and disillusionment at having learned that the fantastic tales regarding his miraculous escape from the island had been naught but a tissue of lies. She had all but accused him outright of being a complete and utter fraud ...

_

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_

"So," she asked him bitterly, still stinging at having her childhood fantasies ripped away, "Is there any truth to the other stories?"

_His expression went dead and cold, and the look he gave her chilled her to the marrow. "Truth?" He pulled up his shirtsleeves to show her the brand on his right arm, the network of scars on his left, then drew aside the neckline of his shirt to reveal the ugly pitted remains of twin gunshot wounds in his right chest. He responded quietly, with cynicism in his eyes and sarcasm on his lips, "No truth at all ..." _

* * *

In that one brief, shockingly revealing moment, she had learned more about Jack Sparrow than in all the rest of the hours spent in his company during that adventure. Though she had tried to dismiss him as nothing but a charlatan and a drunken buffoon, the scars told a much different, and much harsher, story about who Jack Sparrow truly was, and starkly illustrated the events which had helped shape his character.

Raising his limp right arm out of the water to wash it, she fingered the branded letter "P" on his forearm, and grimly considered how excruciating it must have been for him when the mark had been administered. Had he screamed in agony as his flesh sizzled under the red-hot brand, or borne it with silent stoicism, determined to deny his adversaries the satisfaction of seeing him succumb to the pain?

She shuddered at the thought. Perhaps it was best that she _didn't_ know ...

His damp dreadlocks hung over the edge of the tub, and now she lifted them to loosen the knot of his ever-present bandanna. Removing it, she took a moment to rinse the soiled headcloth in the bathwater, wrung it out, then draped it over the edge of the tub nearest the fire to dry.

Looking with dismay at the daunting mass of tangled hair, she sighed. She picked out the largest bits of detritus with her fingers, then, cupping her hands, she dipped them into the tub and let the water pour slowly over his head, again and again. Once she had his hair thoroughly wet, she carefully started working lather into each of his braids, gently squeezing each spongy lock as she rinsed the soap out, taking pains not to dislodge the various beads and adornments intricately threaded into his hair. When she was at last done, she draped a bath sheet over his head, pressing each ropy strand to release the excess water.

As she reached again for the soap, it slipped from her fingers and dropped into the now-cloudy bathwater. Muttering a mild, thoroughly unladylike curse under her breath, her hand dipped below the surface, seeking, grasping. Her fingers brushed something ...

"Careful, luv. That's me, not the soap!" a murmur sounded low in her left ear. She gasped, drew her hand back, and turned to find Jack regarding her with bleary eyes from under his fringe of dark lashes. He lifted his left hand out of the water, revealing the cake of soap nestled within his palm. "Unless this is _not _what you were lookin' for ... then, by all means, _do_ continue," he slurred with a somewhat lascivious grin.

She blushed a furious shade of red, thinking of her hands on his body just moments before, and wondering just how long he had been awake, aware, and watching her.

"Mmmm!" a moaning sigh rumbled deep in his throat as he closed his eyes, then slitted them open again to peer at her face. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he seemed to truly focus on her for the first time that night. "Elizabeth?" he drawled uncertainly. "Izzat you, darlin'?" He shook his head disbelievingly, sending his damp dreadlocks whipping around his face like Medusa's snakes. "Can't be! Mus' be dreamin'!" He looked down at his submerged body, then stretched his long limbs out so that his lower legs emerged from the bathwater. Perching his feet on the tub's edge, he wriggled his unshod toes experimentally, his brow wrinkling again. "Bu' is this _my_ dream, or _yours_, luv?"

She decided not to disavow him of this notion. Let him think this was naught but a dream. Chances were, in his highly inebriated state, he would remember very little in the morning anyway. "Does it really matter, Captain Sparrow?"

"Well, luv, in the first place, I never bathe ..."

"That's pungently obvious," she interjected tartly.

"... with me breeches on. And second ..." His gaze fell upon her face again, and a dark light sparked in his black eyes. "... if t'was _my_ dream, I wouldn' be _here_ ..." His right hand splashed idly at the bathwater, as his eyes slid past her to fix on something beyond her. "I'd be _there_ ..." He nodded toward the bed, and crooked a wicked grin. "... and I wouldn't be alone, if you take my meanin'!"

She turned to follow the direction of his gaze, and as she caught sight of the bed, her face reddened anew. "Captain Sparrow!" she cried in outrage. Flustered beyond reason, she reached across him in an attempt to snatch the cake of soap from his far hand, but with a prankster's grin he moved it just out of her grasp. "Captain Sparrow! Please!"

"Well, since you ask so nicely, how can I refuse? Besides, I love it when a woman begs ..."

As she stretched further and leaned over the tub, he caught her round the waist with a tanned, tattooed – but now squeaky clean – arm, and she suddenly found herself landing with a _splash_ in the tub, atop the semi-naked pirate.

Elizabeth let out a cry of surprise and squirmed in his grasp, bracing her arms on the edges of the tub and arching her upper body away from Jack's, trying to free herself from his embrace. Unfortunately, in doing so, she had inadvertently presented him with a target he couldn't resist ...

She gasped as she felt the pressure of a warm, wet mouth against the swell of her bosom through the layers of dampened cloth. Despite herself, her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected sensation, and the resulting ripple of pleasure that trembled through her body caught her completely unawares.

Drunk as he was, her reaction nevertheless was not lost on Jack. Wrapping both arms now around her narrow waist, he raised his head to repeat the process on her other breast.

"Oh! Oh ... my!" she breathed. Her head swam, and for the second time in her life, she felt close to fainting ...

Her world shifted and tilted, and she suddenly found herself flat on her back next to the tub, with a soggy Jack Sparrow sprawled on top of her. Water dripped onto her chin from the little twin braids of his beard as he raised himself up on his arms to cast a gaze down her body then back up to her face.

"Forgive me, luv, but I was gettin' all pruny in there. Hot baths do that to pirates, you know ... we just shrivel and shrink right away." He lowered himself so that his face hovered just above hers. "Now, what say I thank you properly for your ... hospitality?" He breathed the last word in her face, and the overpowering scent of stale rum enveloped her. He moved in, angling for a kiss ...

_Good lord! _she thought to herself. _Why is it every time we get this close, his breath is reeking of alcohol? _An answering voice inside her head retorted, _Oh, I don't know ... could it be because he never _stops_ drinking?_

With a sudden burst of strength, she heaved him off of her, scrambling to her feet as he landed on his backside. She stood in front of the fireplace, dripping wet, gulping in the breaths he had knocked out of her when he had landed on top of her. "Captain ... Sparrow! Would you ... please ... behave yourself!" she managed to gasp out.

"Sorry, luv, but what's a man to think, wakin' up with nearly all his clothes gone, and a beautiful, half-naked woman running her hands all over his body ...?" His deceptively lazy eyes twinkled with lust and mischief.

_Bloody hell!_ she thought with dismay, and not a little embarrassment, _he _was_ awake ... _"It was a perfectly innocent ... and may I say, long overdue ... bath!" she said, defensively.

"Not that I _minded_, mind you ... after all, believe it or not, this is not the first time that's happened to me. In fact, one time, in Singapore, there were these two bathhouse wenches ..." His voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over with the memory, and the leer that spread across his face was positively indecent. Then, with a start, he seemed to remember that Elizabeth was still there. "Well, let's just say it was two of the most memorable, and pleasantly exhausting, days of me life ..."

He assumed an apologetic air, the fingertips of his right hand pressed over his heart. "But I do tender my most abject apologies if I have in any way misinterpreted, misconstrued, or otherwise misjudged the situation, my dear Miss Swann. Far be it for me to offend your sensibilities, or cast aspersions on your most noble intentions," he said in a mildly mocking tone.

She could only glare at him as he scooted up into a sitting position on the floor, arms draped across his raised knees as he glanced around the room. "I don' suppose you have any rum 'round here. All this bathin' and such has made me curiously dry ..." His glance took in the nearly-empty rum bottle on the table. "Ah!" Rising from the floor, with a bit of difficulty, he staggered toward it.

"Captain Sparrow, I should think you've had more than enough rum for one night!" Anger won out over embarrassment. "What else would have caused you to appear on my terrace, in the middle of the night, singing at the top of your lungs ..."

"Did I?" his brow furrowed as he searched his recent memory. "Sorry, luv ... can' say as I recall that ..."

"I'm not a bit surprised," she said acidly, watching him tilt the rum bottle to his lips. "Did it never occur to you how dangerous it would be to come back here ... and what would happen to you, if you were caught? Have you forgotten that there is still a death sentence on your head, which James is determined to see executed?"

He flinched at the word _executed_, and held his hands up, as if fending off the barrage of her heated words. "Easy, luv ... easy."

"And here you are now, practically delivering yourself back into the hangman's clutches. Whatever could you have been thinking!"

"Considerin' I don't even recall how I got here, I'm not sure I'm capable of doin' any thinkin' right now." His gaze took in the room. "Where is 'here', by the way?" he asked.

"The Governor's Mansion – or, more specifically, the cottage of its groundskeeper," she explained.

"Ah ... then I'm back in Port Royal."

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth stared at him. Had he suddenly gone insane? How could he _not _know where he was?

His eyes widened as a thought seemed to penetrate his fogged brain, and he slammed the rum bottle down on the table. "But if they catch ol' Jack here, they'll hang me!"

She sighed in exasperation. "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell you, all evening!"

He jumped up and started quickly gathering his things. "Sorry to cut our tender reunion short, Lizzie luv, but I really must dash!"

"I'm afraid that is not possible right now, Captain Sparrow. Dear James – that's Commodore Norrington to you – has taken the liberty of posting guards around the grounds until morning ... for _my_ safety and protection, you understand ... so we can't possibly get you out until they leave."

"I'm willin' to take me chances," he said, heading for the door.

She rushed past him, getting there just ahead of him, and flattened her back against the door, blocking his way. "But _I'm_ not!" she said. "Will and I went through a considerable amount of trouble to rescue you from the hangman ... at great risk to ourselves, I might add! If you think I'm going to let you undo that …!"

"Move away, missy, or I'll move you m'self ... Gotta get back to the _Pearl_, and get the bloody hell out of here!"

"You see, that's the other problem. The _Pearl _isn't here ... James has already spied it, and gone in pursuit. So even if you were, by some miracle, able to elude the dozen guards closely watching this house and grounds, you have nowhere to go until the _Pearl_ comes back for you ..." She smirked as she added, unkindly, "That is ... _if _it comes back for you!"

"Bugger!" he swore, his shoulders slumping in resignation, dropping his personal effects, with a clatter, onto the floor.

"So you see, Captain Sparrow – it looks like we're stuck with each other's company until the guards leave and we can get you safely away." She moved toward him, hands on her slim hips, jaw set, a look of stony determination on her face. "And I'm _not_ letting you leave here, even if I have to sit on you all night ..."

His dark eyebrows rose at her words, and his impenetrable gaze swept her body from head to toe and back again. "Well, luv ..." he said, his voice low and deep, "when you put it _that_ way, I s'pose I could think of worse ways to spend a night." Backing up slowly, his black eyes never leaving her face, he sat in the chair. "Anytime you're ready, luv ..." He leaned back with a suggestive smile, and patted his lap in invitation. "Sit away!"

She sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Oh, just shut up, and drink your bloody rum!"

* * *


	3. Demon Rum

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

Chapter 3  
**Demon Rum**

With an uncanny ability that would be the envy of any bloodhound, Jack managed to sniff out the groundskeeper's private stash of rum, and now he lazed in one of the chairs, his bare feet up on the table, the rum bottle nestled in his lap. Elizabeth sat near the fire, shivering slightly. Though the Caribbean night itself was not that chilly, the drenched cloth against her flesh had leached the warmth from her body, leaving her skin cold and clammy under her damp clothing. She had removed her wet corset, and now sat in little but her soaked shift, with her shawl wrapped modestly around her shoulders, letting herself dry by the heat of the fire.

The garment undoubtedly would have dried much faster had she been able to hang it by the fire, as she had done with Jack's clothing, but, though he had encouraged her to do so with a mischievous leer, she refused to disrobe with Jack there. Given the choice of either catching her death of cold, or embarrassing herself in front of the lecherous pirate … well, she'd much rather risk contracting pneumonia!

Jack took a pull on the bottle of rum, then offered it to Elizabeth.

"No, thank you," she demurred primly. "As you well know, I'm really not fond of alcohol ..."

"This isn't just alcohol, darlin' – it's _rum_, and bloody _good_ rum at that! Not like that cheap swill we usually get in port. By the way, you should check out your groundskeeper when he gets back ... either his wages are much too generous, to afford liquor of this quality, or he's been tappin' into your father's private stock on the sly."

He eyed her shrewdly. "Besides, I can see you're shiverin' ... a tot of rum should warm you right up!" He held the bottle out to her again, cocking an eyebrow encouragingly. "For strictly medicinal purposes, of course. I promise, I'm not tryin' to get you drunk so I can have me way with you ... as pleasant and tempting a prospect as that may be. You have me word of honour!" With his right forefinger, he traced a cross on his bare chest, over his heart, and pasted an earnestly innocent expression across his face that she didn't believe for a minute.

She snorted, "Yes ... as if you haven't tried _that_ before!"

"As I recall, luv, t'was _you_ that hoodwinked _me _in that regard," he frowned, "and burnt all the rum whilst I was asleep."

"Asleep! Passed out, you mean!" she retorted. Nevertheless, she eyed the bottle dubiously, weighed her options, then gave a little shrug. She was so dreadfully cold, and a few swallows wouldn't hurt, surely?

She took the bottle, wiped its mouth on the hem of her shift, raised it to her lips, and took a tentative sip. She coughed as the liquor burned a trail of fire down her throat and into her gut. Though this was not her first taste of rum, she had forgotten exactly how it felt going down. She had to admit after a moment, though, that the warmth spreading throughout her body _did_ feel good, so she risked another draught.

As she lowered the bottle, she eyed him enviously – sitting there in nothing but breeches, looking quite comfortable. "How is it that _you're_ not cold? You have on even less clothing than I do, and those wet as well!" She slid the rum bottle back to him across the table.

He spread his hands. "Acclimation, luv. One gets used to it. Remember, I spend most of me day, _every_ day, on the water, and said water does not always oblige by stayin' in the sea, where it belongs. Hence, furthermore, and _ipso facto _– wet pirates ..." He took another swig from the bottle, and flashed her a golden grin. "And there _is _the rum, too, of course, to keep a man warm at night, when the cold ocean breeze chills him to the bone." He slid the bottle back in her direction.

_Smug bastard!_ she thought to herself. "It's _your_ bloody fault that I'm wet in the first place!" she muttered under her breath, and, from the corner of her eye, she again saw the glint of his smile.

"Well, I s'pose if you're _that _cold, we could always ..." his voice lowered an octave, suggestively, "... cosy up together." At her pointed glare, he was quick to add, "Jus' for practical and therapeutic reasons, luv! Shared body heat, and such."

He was incorrigible! She snorted, "You wish!" She took another small sip of rum, and placed the bottle back on the table.

"That I do, luv," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him, and there was an undercurrent to his voice that sent a small thrill up her spine. "That, I do."

"And if you're so accustomed to being wet all the time, then please explain to me your apparent aversion to hot water and soap."

Apparently, he chose to take that as a rhetorical question, for he didn't respond.

A silence stretched between them, while Elizabeth stared into the fire and tried to will some of its warmth into her chilled body. She was so preoccupied that she didn't hear Jack move until something dropped over her shoulders, and she realised he had fetched her the coverlet from the bed. His hands fell on her blanket-draped shoulders, and gave an encouraging squeeze. "There, luv ... that should help some." He planted a loud, smacking kiss on the top of her blonde head, playfully, before moving away again.

She wrapped the coverlet more securely around herself. "Thank you, Captain Sparrow."

"_Jack_, luv ... surely, wot with all we've been through together, you've earned the right to call me by me given name."

She smiled, this time with a hint of genuine warmth. "Very well. Thank you ... Jack."

"There ... that wasn't so hard now, was it? You sounded almost friendly just then."

He reclaimed the bottle and settled himself back in his chair, propped his feet again on the table, and was silent for a moment, his finger circling the mouth of the rum bottle distractedly. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the fire. As the silence between them continued, she at last glanced up to find him studying her with narrowed eyes.

"What?" she finally asked, discomfited by the intensity of his gaze. "Is something the matter?"

"Gibbs tells me that, while I was enjoyin' Barbossa's 'hospitality' in the _Pearl_'s brig, it was you callin' the shots on the _Interceptor_. Plottin' strategies, shoutin' orders, like a right proper ship's captain. He also said t'was you who thought to drop the starboard anchor, and let the wheel loose to swing the ship around, in order to engage the _Pearl_." He frowned down at the rum bottle in his lap. "Not that I was particularly happy 'bout you blowin' holes in me ship, mind you ..."

As he lifted his gaze to her she thought she could detect a glimmer of something ... possibly admiration? ... in his eyes. "But I'll have you know that you earned the respect of Gibbs, and the entire crew, that day. And that's no small accomplishment, particularly for a woman!"

Elizabeth blushed slightly under his praise, pleased in spite of herself. "For all the good it did. We still lost the battle. And I can't take _all _the credit. I had help, after all ... Gibbs and the crew, and, of course, Will--"

"-- barely has the wits to tie his own bootlaces, missy, let alone take command of a big bloody ship. Let's face it, luv, young Mr. Turner, for all his fine and sterling qualities – and despite the fact that I _do_ consider him a mate of mine – is not what you'd call the sharpest sword in the scabbard."

She bristled at his criticism of her fiancé. "Will is a good and honourable man --"

"That's as may be, luv, but he is also naïve, gullible, soft-hearted, much too trusting, and, truth be told, a bit thick. Not good qualities in a leader, and particularly not in a pirate. I can't say I'd trust _him_ to lead me crew – at least, not until he grew a pair, and a brain as well ..."

Before Elizabeth had a chance to take him to task for his low estimation of Will, Jack continued, his voice pitched intense and low.

"But you, Lizzie, on the other hand --" His admiring gaze raked her again, and had she not already begun to fall under the influence of the rum she'd imbibed, she might have noticed that his eyes were just a bit keener than a drunken man's ought to be. "Your mind is sharp, your instincts good, and you have the courage to take decisive action. And, beneath that damnably attractive feminine exterior, I'd wager that you have a ruthless streak that would stand you in good stead as a pirate. I daresay that _you_ would not shirk from doin' whatever is necessary to save ship and crew. Those are rare qualities in a man, let alone a woman, and a young and beautiful one at that." He grinned crookedly. "The whelp still has quite a way to go to match you, darlin'. In fact, at present, _you're_ more a man than he is ..."

Then his tone lightened as he quipped, "Though it's a toss-up between you and Will who's the prettier, although ..." his eyes dropped to her bosom, "as you _do_ have certain -- _ahem_ --physical attributes that he's lacking, and no facial hair in evidence, I have to admit I'm a bit prejudiced in your favour ..."

Elizabeth pouted sullenly, stinging at Jack's criticism of her fiancé. "You would do well to remember that it was Will's loyalty and sense of honour that saved you from the hangman. And contrary to what you believe, _Captain Sparrow_," she said frostily, deliberately using his formal rather than his familiar name, "Will is not stupid, or effete. Merely ... inexperienced."

Jack's expression transformed to somewhere between a smirk and a leer. "Well, luv, if it's experience you're wantin', you need look no further." His eyelids lowered suggestively as he smoothed his moustache with his fingers. "That is most assuredly _not_ a problem. I have experience a-plenty, and, generous soul that I am, I'd be more than willin' to share it with you. You need only say the word ..." His eyes strayed once more in the direction of the bed.

Still in the midst of her sulk, she frowned, ignoring his blatant flirting. "And I still say you're selling Will short. He has much more depth than you give him credit for."

Jack shrugged. "Well, he _is_ quite a fine swordsman ... I'll give him that! Though he does need to chuck the rule-book out the window a bit more often, if he's going to cross blades with the likes of pirates. And his taste in women is, without a question, beyond reproach." He raised the half-empty rum bottle to her with a slight inclination of his head, as if in tribute.

If it not were for the slightly mocking smile he wore on his face, she might have thought his compliment sincere.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Jack declared himself hungry and, encouraged that he was interested in ingesting something other than vast quantities of rum, Elizabeth initiated a search of the groundskeeper's cupboards, looking for anything that could be considered edible. Though she knew she could easily go back to the house and pilfer some food from the kitchens, she was loath to leave Jack alone, for fear that he still had it in his head to flee despite the danger presented by James' guards.

After a bit more poking around -- Jack's keen nose plainly good only for sniffing out rum, not food -- she found an earthenware jar of candied Jamaican ginger, another of pulled molasses taffy, and one of sugared coconut meat swimming in a syrup of thickened coconut milk laced with rum. Apparently, in addition to a fondness for good liquor, the groundskeeper also harboured a voracious sweet-tooth!

They now both sat at table, nibbling bits of the sweet confections, and washing them down with swigs of rum from their shared bottle.

"So ..." Jack drawled, and when she turned her attention to him he seemed to be preoccupied with examining his fingernails and fiddling with his many rings, "Speakin' of good ol' Will – " he picked up the thread of their earlier conversation. "I understand you and 'Bootstrap' Junior will be marryin' soon."

Her fine brows rose in astonishment. "Yes, that's true ... but I'm surprised you've heard about that, seeing you've been at sea eluding James all these past months."

Jack took another draught of rum. "Heard it in some pub or another durin' me travels, I s'pose. Let's face it, Lizzie, you're a bit of a celebrity, bein' the high-and-mighty daughter of the Governor of Port Royal and all, and people _do _tend to talk." He swung his feet down from the table, and leaned toward her conspiratorially. "I'll let you in on a little secret about pirates, luv. We're notorious gossips. Every last one of us. Helps fill the time, y'know, durin' those long stretches at sea." He smiled and winked at her, pushing the bottle back within her reach.

Elizabeth fought an urge to giggle at the absurd thought of a shipload of rugged, bloodthirsty pirates sitting around, teacups perched primly on their knees, engaging in idle gossip, like a bevy of old biddies at a sewing bee. As she raised the rum bottle to her lips for another swallow, she noted that she was _definitely_ feeling a bit warmer now ...

"D'ya mind me askin' you a question, luv?" Jack asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Why not? After all, we have all night, and we _have_ to pass the time somehow ..."

"Well ..." his eyes strayed to the bed again.

"Ja-ack ...!" Elizabeth said warningly.

With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Elizabeth. "Are you sure you want to be tyin' the knot just yet?"

"What do you mean?" she paused in the midst of raising the bottle to her lips.

"Marryin' Will, that is?" Jack said. "I mean ... isn't it a bit quick? He's only recently made you aware of his feelin's, after all, and long engagements are generally the custom in polite society, so I understand. Unless ..." He regarded her speculatively as she took another swig of rum, his eyes for once straying a bit lower than her bosom to fix on her stomach. "You're not ... well ... in the family way, are you, luv?"

She choked, the mouthful of rum spraying out in all directions. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as she coughed out, "Do you mean ... am I ... _pregnant_?"

"No offence, luv ... it _does_ happen, you know ..."

"Not to _me_! I'm a … I mean, Will and I have _never_ ..." she sputtered, then squared her shoulders in slightly tipsy dignity. "I would remind you again that Will is a man of honour. He would never step outside the bounds of propriety ...!" _More's the pity_, she added in her mind.

"'Strewth! The lad must really _be_ a eunuch!" Jack said in an incredulous voice.

Elizabeth rose to her feet, her fists balled in anger. The blanket and shawl slipped from her shoulders and dropped to the floor, unheeded, leaving her standing there in nothing but her damp shift. "How dare you --?" she began, but he interrupted her.

"I mean, how can any man resist charms such as yours?" He slanted a deceptively lazy, yet strangely intense, look up at her, a slightly mocking smile on his lips. "Why, if you were _my_ woman, Lizzie, I'd be makin' mad passionate love to you every night! Make no mistake about that!" He reached for another sweetmeat, flipped it straight into the air, and deftly caught it in his mouth.

Elizabeth got the sense that he was making fun of her. She scowled at him as she swayed slightly on her feet. "Would you be serious, please? I'm trying to be furious with you!" she snapped, then was mortified as her outburst was punctuated by a little hiccup.

"What makes you think I'm _not _serious, darlin'?" His dark gaze swept over her. "You are a beautiful woman, Lizzie. Surely you know that." He regarded her with head slightly tilted, and her breath caught at the look in his eyes, a glitter in their sable depths that could not be wholly attributed to the flickering firelight.

When he continued, his voice was pitched low, caressingly. "Why, just look at you, luv … Your hair shines like cursed Aztec gold. Your skin is like pale, perfect velvet, and I'd wager, just as soft to touch. A man could drown in the honeyed depths of those eyes, and happily go to his death for just one taste of those rosy lips. Any living, breathing man would be blind not to see that, and want you for his own." He leaned back with a little self-satisfied smile as she stood there, gaping at him.

Elizabeth was stunned into silence, her outrage on Will's behalf momentarily forgotten. She sat down heavily in her chair, her mouth slack with surprise. She gulped, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. When she found her voice again, she said, weakly, "Does rum always make you wax so ... poetic?"

"No, darlin' ... " he said lightly, "It takes proper inspiration, and you _do _inspire me, Lizzie." One side of his moustache twitched, as if he was fighting to suppress a grin, and the mischief had returned to his eyes.

Her mouth twisted in irony as she desperately reached for the nearest jar of treats, struggling to regain her lost composure. "Yes, but I shudder to think exactly _what_ you are inspired to do!" She devoured yet another dripping bit of coconut, leaving her lips and fingertips glistening with sticky glaze.

His return smile was equally ironic, his dark eyes enigmatic as he sat, apparently mesmerised at the sight of Elizabeth sucking the sweet, gooey syrup from her slender fingers. "As the damned French say … _touché_!" As she slowly licked her lips, Jack's tongue came out as well, unconsciously mimicking her actions. That thrill-inciting undertone was back in his voice as he repeated, in a low voice, _"Tou-ché!"_

* * *


	4. Truths and Temptations

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

Chapter 4  
**Truths and Temptations**

Once she had finished cleaning her fingers, Elizabeth sighed and shook her head, which caused it to swim anew. "You know, I never really know what to make of you, Jack. It's so difficult to take you at face value, when you wear so many _different_ faces ... the miserable drunkard, the daring adventurer, the clever schemer, the skilled swordsman, the bold rescuer of waterlogged damsels in distress, and now … the romantic poet. How can I tell which one is the _real_ Jack Sparrow?"

He smiled crookedly again. "Well, that's me, luv ... the original Jack-of-all-trades!" When she cast him a pained look at his atrocious joke, he went on, "Well, Lizzie – you can take your pick! One's as good, and likely as true, as another."

"Oh, and I forgot one … the coward."

Now it was his turn to bristle. He glowered at her, a picture of impugned dignity. "Coward! Surely not! Slander and calumny!"

"You forget, sir, that Will has seen you flee from danger, on several occasions. In fact, he does quite a serviceable impression of you, which I find highly amusing!" She thrust out her chest and waved her arms comically, in a fairly good approximation of Jack while running.

He harrumphed. "That's not cowardice, luv … that's what is known as a 'strategic retreat'. It's a time-honoured pirate tradition!" He chucked a cube of coconut at her head.

She waved her hand dismissively as she deftly ducked the sugary projectile, nearly falling out of her chair in the process. "Semantics."

"Call it what you will, luv ... sometimes runnin' from danger is truly the most sensible thing to do." He tapped his temple knowingly with one sticky finger. "No use gettin' yourself killed, when you can withdraw and wait for a moment more advantageous to you. Countless generals throughout the ages have made use of the tactic, after all. It's tried and true!"

"Hmm," she reluctantly conceded the point. "I suppose ..."

"And the proof is sittin' before you, luv. I'm still alive and kickin', so plainly ol' Jack's doin' somethin' right ..."

"Perhaps it's just blind luck. I trust you've heard the old saying about Providence watching over fools and children ..."

"Well, luv, seein' that I'm neither a child, nor a fool, that doesn't really pertain to me, now does it?"

"A child? No -- though at times you're prone to _behaving_ like an unruly child. As far as the other ... I'm still reserving judgment on that one."

His golden teeth flashed again as he smiled in what appeared to be genuine amusement. "As the Good Book says: 'Let no man deceive himself. If any man among you _seemeth_ to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may _be_ wise.'"

She looked at him, mildly impressed. "Corinthians, isn't it? I'm surprised that you've _read_ the Bible, though it's a pity you haven't taken all of its teachings to heart."

"Well, luv, as you should know by now, not all pirates are ignorant, knuckle-draggin' barbarians. Some of us are quite civilised, literate, and most erudite." Elizabeth had to accept that that was true, recalling how she had badly misjudged Barbossa upon their first encounter, by presuming his intelligence level to be much lower than hers and that she could easily outwit him. He had quite speedily disavowed her of that arrogant misconception, and put her properly in her place, to her chagrin.

"In fact," Jack continued, "I read quite a lot. After all, there's a limited number of things a man can do to amuse himself on a ship, except engage in games of chance, sing, drink rum, and read books ..." He grinned as he raised the bottle to his lips. "Of course, drinkin' rum _is_ me favourite. But readin' comes in a close second ..." He tipped the bottle and took a generous swallow.

"Then, in citing that quote, do you mean to say that you are a _wise_ fool?" she countered, feeling the beginning of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"No, luv. Only that we gain wisdom from our moments of foolishness, of which I've admittedly had more than my share. And to look out for the bloody know-it-alls of this world, because they're most likely talkin' out their arses." He handed the mostly-empty bottle back to her.

She smiled in spite of herself. This is certainly not what she had expected when the evening began -- drinking rum, exchanging quips, and discussing Bible quotes and philosophy with the Captain of the _Black Pearl_.

"Well, in the spirit of _quid pro quo_, do you mind _me_ asking _you_ a question." She eyed him as she took another sip of rum, and found that she had a bit of difficulty keeping him in focus. "Why are you questioning my decision to marry Will ... or, rather, why are you trying to make _me _question _my_ decision?"

Jack spread his hands, as if the matter was of no consequence to him, one way or the other. "I'm not makin' you do anything, luv. All I'm sayin' is -- puttin' all high-flyin' romantic notions aside for a moment -- have you ever considered that Will may _not_ be the one you're meant to be with?"

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

"Only that there may be an even better match for you out there. Someone more compatible with your mercurial disposition and adventurous aspirations ... someone who can match your wit and fire -- an area in which, as I've previously noted, Will falls short of the mark -- and who won't hold you back from doin' all the things you want the freedom to do."

She looked at him curiously, her head swimming with rum and confusion, as he casually popped another sweet in his mouth. Why on earth was Jack Sparrow, of all people, concerned with what she did with her life? What did it matter to him if she married Will, or James, or the bloody man in the moon? She tried to read between the lines, because she had come to learn that with Jack there was always a hidden meaning, an ulterior motive to nearly everything he said and did. "Just what _are_ you saying?" A preposterous thought occurred to her. "That I should leave Will and run away and marry _you_ instead, and spend my life at sea, having adventure after adventure?" Her voice held a note of mild scorn.

He darted her an almost panicked look, nearly choking on his piece of sugared ginger. "Now, who said anythin' about mar-ri-age, luv? The word never passed me lips ..." He paused with a thoughtful frown. "Well ... not until just now, of course. But the adventure part ..."

He gave her an appraising look, with a glint in his eye. "Aye, I think the life of a pirate would suit you exceedingly well. From what I've seen thus far and heard from the crew, you definitely have the potential, and the raw talent, for that line of work -- it only wants for a bit of ... refinin'. Why, with a little supplemental training, you would make a bonny – and, I daresay, quite magnificent – piratess!" An idea seemed to occur to him. "Tell you what -- I'd be willin' to take you under me wing, make you my protégé. In fact, I can't think of anything more ... stimulating ... than havin' you under me ..." He let the double-entendre hang in the air for a few beats before he finished, "... as an apprentice."

Again she waved her hand, as if trying to clear smoke from the room, and fixed him with an annoyed look. "I won't even assume you're being serious about that. But you're changing the subject," she said with some impatience, "And avoiding answering my question." She tried again, "Why does it bother you that I'm going to be marrying Will?"

The guarded look returned to his eyes. "Now, I never said it _bothered _me. It's just that, I think you should carefully consider your decision, lest you make the biggest mistake of your life."

"And why would marrying Will be a mistake? I love him ..."

"In my view, luv, _any _mar-ri-age is a mistake."

"Are you speaking from experience?" she asked incisively.

"No, luv ... that's only my opinion."

"You mean, you've _never _had a wife?"

He raised one eyebrow archly. "I've 'had' _many_ wives, luv," he replied with a naughty grin. "But, fortunately, none of 'em my own!"

She gave him a long-suffering look. "I should have known better than to expect a straight answer from you. Must you always be a ... a bloody _enigma_? Are you even _capable_ of giving a truthful answer?"

His grin withered and died, and when he replied his tone was a shade more serious. "The _truth_, luv, is ... no, I've never been married." He smiled sardonically, absently touching the scars on his chest. "That's _one_ particular bullet I've managed to dodge."

She eyed him sceptically. "You mean to tell me, you've never, _ever_ been in love?"

"Now, I never said that, luv. I'm as susceptible to the charms of a beautiful woman as any red-blooded male -- and I'll have you know that _all _of me organs, includin' my heart, are in fine working order. Why, just ask half the serving wenches in Tortuga!" His smile was languid, and his expression reminded her of a cat anticipating a bowl of cream. "I do _love_ the ladies ... but in me own way, and on me own terms, and mar-ri-age just isn't plotted on me charts. I love me life and freedom much too much to sacrifice it, for anyone, and what are the unholy bonds of matrimony but a surrendering of your freedom?"

"But if you love someone enough, shouldn't you be willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary for the sake of that love?"

He regarded her with a sigh and an expression bordering on piteous. "Sometimes I forget how young you truly are, Lizzie."

She snorted. "You're hardly Methuselah yourself! And there's no need for you to be so bloody condescending!" She angrily took another swig of rum.

"Well, luv, all I'm sayin' is there may come a time -- and a lot sooner than you reckon -- when you'll have to choose between the two: love, or freedom."

"And why is it inconceivable that one could have _both_?" she asked in a tight voice.

"Honestly, luv ... I'm not a big believer in the institution of mar-ri-age. And, let's face it ... the pirate lifestyle does not exactly lend itself to formin' attachments of the matrimonial kind. Look at the crew of any pirate ship, and you'll find a boatload of confirmed bachelors ... and the ones who aren't, are runnin' away from wives back home. As I see it, disagreeable wives have sent more men to sea than the Royal Navy!" His mouth twisted in irony. "Talk about escapin' the hangman's noose ..."

Elizabeth frowned. "Quite a cynical view you have of the wedded state. Fortunately, I'm not quite so jaded."

He sighed again. "In my experience, darlin', love always runs its course. Sooner or later, the ardour cools and dies, and the love with it. And then what does that leave but two desperately unhappy people, shackled to one another because they made a poor, misguided decision while in the grip of madness?"

"Love is not a madness ..." Elizabeth protested with some heat, angry that Jack should harbour such a low opinion of the married state, and, by implication, belittle her and Will for choosing that path for themselves. "It is the noblest, purest, and most beautiful emotion a person can experience, let alone share with another."

All Jack could do was shake his head as he said in a tone rife with cynicism, "If you say so, luv. If you say so."

The condescension in his tone penetrated the fog filling her head, getting her dander up, and she replied rather snippily, "You see, Captain Sparrow, there's a fundamental difference between a man like you and a man like Will. Will's not a _coward_. He's not afraid to make a commitment." She looked at him with a disdainful expression, as if she were examining some disgusting insect she had found hiding beneath a rock. "A man like you wants a woman for only one thing ... to share your bed, have a bit of fun with. Will wants more than that ... he wants a wife ... someone to share his _life_ with."

Jack stared at her a moment, his eyes going uncharacteristically hard, reminding her again of that day alone on the island. "Dearie, if all I wanted was someone to engage in a little slap-an'-tickle with ol' Jacky, believe me, there are women a-plenty willin' enough to do just that, with or without an exchange of coinage to grease the wheels. And while it's true that I've never wanted for female companionship, when the itch is upon me," he leaned forward, until he and Elizabeth were practically nose-to-nose, and waved an admonishing finger in her face, "... don't fool yourself into believing that that is _all_ I could ever want from a woman. Frankly, you don't know me nearly well enough to make that kind of judgment about me."

_And whose fault is that, _Elizabeth thought to herself, fuming, _when you hide behind so many bloody masks?_

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles, unfazed by the daggers she was sending him with her eyes. "Now, I know you have all these fine an' fancy dreams about what life will be like, once you and Will are married. All hearts and flowers and a love that will last until the good Lord sounds the trumpet for the final judgment." Some of the hardness drained from his eyes, again leaving them shuttered and unreadable. "But if there's one thing I've learned through the years, it's that life is never that easy, or that certain, darlin'. But I reckon that's a lesson you and young Mr. Turner will have to learn all on your onesies. After time, I think you'll find your pretty little bed of roses has more than its share of hidden thorns."

"And what would you know about it?" Elizabeth said, cuttingly, her words pelting him like little darts of anger. "When was the last time you've _given_ something to a woman, rather than taken? Are you even _capable_ of giving a woman what she needs -- the things she truly desires?"

He shook his head, the cynicism now tempered with a hint of sadness. "If, by that, you mean the things young Will is offerin' you – undyin' love and fidelity, home, hearth and family, a lifetime commitment ... No, darlin'. That's somethin' I wouldn't be able to promise you, or _anyone_. How could I, when any day could find me danglin' at the end of a rope, or lyin' cold and dead in Davy Jones' Locker? Only a bloody fool makes commitments when every day could be his last. And, as I've already pointed out, I am not a fool."

He absently fingered the healed bullet wounds in his right chest, his eyes losing their focus. "I won't put a painted face on it, luv. Piracy is not a bad way of makin' a livin' -- in fact, it can be quite rewarding, and I'm not just talkin' about the plunder, though that can be considerable at times -- but it's not all fun an' games, as you well know. For all its boons, a pirate's life can be a harsh and uncertain one ... never knowin' when you wake up in the mornin' whether you're goin' to live to see another day, and thankin' the good Lord _and_ the devil himself each night that neither has seen fit to claim you." He stared into the fire, and though its flickering light danced in his eyes, the expression in them was as dark and unfathomable as the sea, as though he was staring into some black abyss that only he was capable of seeing.

"Now, I'm savvy that you want to remain honest and true to young master Will, even if it means settin' your own deepest desires aside, and that's very decent of you," he said quietly, but then a shadow seemed to pass over his face, his eyes clouding with painful memories. "But, believe me, luv, honesty's not all it's cracked up to be, particularly in my line of business. I found that out the hard way. You either learn to be cunning, and sly, and untrustin', and look out for your _own_ interests, or you're like to be caught with a knife between the ribs ... or heaved overboard to spend your last days on some godforsaken island, with no food, no drink, no shelter, no companionship, and nothin' between you and a long, drawn-out death by privation but a pistol with a single shot." His mouth hardened into a thin, tight line, his unfocused eyes still gazing into the past, and into his own personal Hell.

Elizabeth found a lump had risen to her throat, her sudden anger at him now blown over as quickly as a summer squall. Only one other time had Jack let his masks drop so fully like this – bared his soul, shown her his scars, allowed her a rare glimpse of the real, eminently fallible man behind the fantastic stories: Jack Sparrow, the man, not the legend. No artifice, no games -- only the raw, unvarnished truth.

"Then why do you do it?" she asked softly, with real curiosity, wanting to understand him. "I mean, if it's such a bloody hard and dangerous life, why did you become a pirate? And why do you _stay_ one? What makes it worth risking your life? Is it for the gold? … the glory? … the adventure?"

Finally breaking out of his deep reverie, he turned and looked at her oddly, as if she had suddenly started speaking Chinese, his dark eyes more lucid and alive than she had seen them all evening. "For the _freedom_, luv," he said, plainly and passionately, as if it were obvious.

She shook her head slightly. "Freedom ... but at what cost?"

He touched the brand on his forearm, the ghost of painful memories still evident in his deep brown eyes. "Freedom, luv, is worth _any_ price. Just wait until you've been denied it, and you'll quickly learn to appreciate the value of it." When he turned his gaze back to her, there was a look in his eyes akin to hunger, and she found something deep inside her responding to that look. He leaned toward her, reached out and fingered a lock of her blonde hair. "And the things you're willin' to give up to keep it."

She released a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding, and pulled away from his touch, uncomfortably aware of the sudden air of intimacy surrounding the two of them. She abruptly stood up, turning her back to him so he wouldn't see the tears -- and the new uncertainty -- in her eyes. Her mind was in a whirl. Why was it getting so bloody hard for her to _think _straight? Was it just the effects of the rum, or ... something else?

"I don't see that I have to give up anything. A life with Will is the only future I want," she insisted, as much to convince herself as to convince him. "It's all I've _ever_ wanted. I can't imagine wanting anything ... or any_one_ ... else."

"Are you sure of that, luv?" He came up behind her, so close that she could feel the heat of his body along her back. His breath stirred the hair next to her ear as he spoke softly, "You've already had a small taste of freedom, Lizzie. And having tasted freedom, can you really give it all up and resume your old way of life?" Though softly spoken, the words held a brittle, sharp edge like shards of glass. "A life of tight corsets and stuffy dinner parties and oh-so-tedious ceremonies and meaningless displays of public pomposity? Would you willingly go back to bein' nothing but a pretty little bird in a bloody gilded cage? Or, worse, condemn yourself to a life of genteel domesticity as the wife of a humble tradesman, cookin' and cleanin' and waitin' on him hand and foot, and pushin' out a child every couple of years, until the blush of youth has faded away and the weight of the daily drudgery has ground your spirit to dust? Would you really sacrifice so much of yourself for the whelp?"

His voice gentled to an ardent murmur as he continued, "_I _see you for what you are, luv, in your heart ... in your soul. You, my dear, are a _pirate._ Deny it all you like, but the thirst for adventure -- for _freedom_ -- is in your blood, same as it is in mine. Y'see, you and I are kindred spirits, Lizzie. Peas in a pod. You want to grab life with both hands, and live it to the fullest, with no apologies, no regrets." She turned and glanced at him sharply as he eerily echoed her earlier thoughts. Had he, somehow, been reading her mind? Was she _that_ transparent? Or had he, in their rather brief acquaintance, really come to know her so well?

Jack went on, relentlessly, persuasively. "Don't you long to fly free upon the winds and ride the rolling waves, wherever they may take you? See places and things you've never seen before? Can you look at the distant horizon caught between the magnificent arch of God's blue sky and His vast green ocean, and honestly say you _don't_ yearn to know what's beyond it?"

His calloused fingers threaded through her blonde tresses once, then again, letting them sift through his fingers like strands of honey-coloured silk. "Think of it, Lizzie ... to be unchained, unfettered ... free to revel in the feel of the ocean breeze playin' through your hair ..." He swept her hair to one side. "The kiss of the salt spray upon your skin," he pressed a soft kiss against the back of her neck.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and felt a single tear slip down her cheek, and there was a tightness in her throat and in her chest that threatened to crush her ...

Jack's hands moved to lightly caress her shoulders. "You're a wild, beautiful, untamed creature, Lizzie. A force of nature, like the very sea itself. T'would be a shame to let them domesticate you, damp that fiery spirit, break your will ..."

_Will. _Her mouth had gone suddenly dry, and she realised with horror that, while Jack had been weaving his magic spell of words, drawing her inexorably into his web, she had, for the moment, entirely forgotten her devoted fiancé. "Will loves me," she managed to croak out. "He would never want to change who I am. He _loves_ who I am." But was that really true? She recalled his reaction when she had asked him to teach her how to handle a sword. She had had a devil of a time convincing him to tutor her in the art of swordfighting, and he at last agreed to do so only, it seemed, to humour her. "We're completely committed to one another, and nothing can or will change that ..."

He sighed, and the feel of this warm breath against the back of her neck made her shiver, and the small hairs at her nape to rise. "Well, as I see it, Lizzie, you're still a free woman. You may be betrothed to Will, but until you say those vows and he places his ring on your finger, you are not yet his wife."

"Nevertheless," she said firmly, "there are those who have the decency and honour to hold to their promises. And I promised myself to Will by accepting his proposal of marriage ..."

But Jack's voice continued, like a wicked little devil perched on her shoulder, whispering words of temptation in her ear, "All I'm sayin', luv, is it's not too late to change your mind. You still have ... options."

She felt his arms come slowly around her waist, gently pulling her to him so that her back was pressed against the front of his body. She knew she should pull away, but somehow couldn't find it within herself to resist.

"Now, I've been as honest as I can be with you, luv, and with m'self. I've made no secret of the fact that I fancy you. But I get the sense that you've either been playin' games with me, missy, or else you've just been lyin' to yourself." His voice lowered to practically a whisper, intimate, compelling. "Y'see, I've caught the way you've looked at me, darlin' ... and I suspect that the fancyin' is not exactly one-sided ..."

She found herself fighting a desire to just lean back into his arms and surrender to his embrace, and attempted to hide it with false bravado. "Then you must have a remarkable capacity for self-delusion ..." she said crisply, denying the new and overpowering feelings marauding her body.

He spun her around to face him, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "And can you honestly say that you've never, _ever_ contemplated, dreamt, or fantasised about us bein' ... together? Because what I've seen in your eyes, Lizzie, tells me differently ... and the eyes don't lie, luv. As they say ... 'the windows to the soul' ..."

Her composure finally cracked under the incessant barrage of his words. "Jack, please!" she snapped, jerking out of his grasp, taking a few backward paces away from him. "What would you have me say? That you tempt me ... torment me ... plague my imagination and my dreams to the point of distraction?"

He shrugged, "Yep, that would be good ... for a start."

She turned away, gazing into the fire so she didn't have to meet his eyes. She felt as though she were a sleepwalker moving through a dream, everything lost in a haze of unreality. "All right, damn you. I admit it. It's true. I find myself ... inexplicably drawn to you, in spite of myself." She frowned. "I have no idea why that is so, but nevertheless, there it is."

"Do you, now?" She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Well, that's very ... interestin'."

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain, ashamed of her admission. "But I'll have you know I feel terribly guilty about it. I want no one but Will to be in my heart, my mind, my very soul." She looked down forlornly. "And though I do confess to being fascinated by you – and let's face it, Jack, you're like no other man I've ever met before – I realise attraction does not necessarily equate love. And I don't want to let any ... confusion ... about my feelings for you tarnish my devotion to Will, or cause me to doubt my love for him. I _won't_ let it."

She whirled then and fixed Jack with a hard stare. "And let me make perfectly clear, so there is no misunderstanding – I _am _entirely devoted to Will, and have every intention of marrying him, no matter what distractions or ... temptations ... are thrown in my path."

"Temptation, eh?" Jack approached, slowly, languidly -- like a cat stalking its prey -- his gaze fixed on her face penetratingly. "Well, darlin'," he said, silkily, "You know the one sure way to get rid of temptation."

"What is that?" she looked up at him hopefully.

He was ever so close now, his heavy-lidded eyes peering down into hers with a mixture of lust and amusement, mere inches from her own. His warm fingers grazed her cheek, then gently swept a loose tendril of tawny hair back behind her ear. He smiled crookedly, his hand moving to cup the back of her head. "Easy, luv," he breathed. "Just give in to it. Always works for me!"

And he drew her face to his, and kissed her.

For the barest moment, she resisted ... struggled to be affronted at his effrontery, without success ... fought the rising desire the deceptively soft touch of his lips invoked. But as his mouth continued to move over hers, fuelling the excitement stretching and awakening in her belly, she sighed into his open mouth, and melted against him, returning his kisses with a fervour equal to his.

They broke momentarily to catch their breath. "Now, tell me, Lizzie. Has young Will ever kissed you like that?"

Her head was reeling – though whether it was from the rum, or his kiss, she didn't know – and she found it difficult to breathe correctly. "I can't see how ... that is any business ... of yours ..." she managed to gasp out, trying to gather the shreds of her wits about her.

"Ah! I take that to mean that he hasn't ..." Jack smirked.

A small spark of anger flared in her breast at his gibe at Will. "If you must know, yes," she snapped, "Will and I _have_ kissed! _Numerous_ times!"

"Fair 'nuff," he said, scrutinising her face, still flushed with the after-effects of their shared kiss. His gaze swept over her, taking in her enormous golden-brown eyes, her slightly swollen lips, her heaving breast. "But have his kisses ever made you feel like you do now?"

Elizabeth hesitated, still trying to regain her breath and equilibrium, thinking how best to phrase her response, without making Will sound – inadequate. She realised the hesitation, in itself, was damning. "As a matter of fact, I find Will's kisses to be quite pleasant indeed ..."

The cheeky devil actually had the impertinence to laugh out loud at that, his gold teeth flashing in the firelight. "_'Quite pleasant indeed'_? Not exactly a ringin' endorsement of his prowess, luv." His laughter dissipated into an insinuating smile as the back of his fingers skimmed her hair.

She jerked away from his touch, and was preparing to give him a sound tongue-lashing, but his hands grasped her around the waist, and pulled her tightly against him.

As he bent to kiss her again, she brought her hands up, intending to push him away, and perhaps give him the face-slapping he had been asking for all night, but as her hands splayed across his bare chest and she felt the warmth of his sun-kissed skin under her palms, any thought she had of resistance evaporated ...

His tongue swept across her lower lip, seeking entrance, and without conscious thought she allowed him in. He tasted tantalisingly of sweet molasses, spicy ginger, and heady rum, and as his tongue found hers, an electric thrill trembled through her body, singing through her veins, setting her nerve endings on fire, finally manifesting itself as a warm throbbing down below. Suddenly, she wanted so much more than kissing ... and it terrified her!

The fear lent her the strength to break from his kiss, and, gasping, she sagged against him, her knees having suddenly gone weak. "I'm afraid, Captain Sparrow, I may have had just a little too much to drink. My wits seem to be a bit addled at the moment, and I fear I will do something we'll _both_ come to regret."

He gazed down at her with a look that caused her body to respond with a tremble of anticipation. "Why should we regret it," he said, "when it's something we _both_ want?"

With a shock, she realised that he was right, and she involuntarily moved back a step. He followed, closing the gap between them. She moved back another step, and again he followed. Another step, and she felt the edge of the bed against the back of her legs. There was nowhere else to go so that when he moved in closer again, she lost her balance and sat down heavily on the mattress.

He stood for a moment looking down at her, a half-smile upon his lips, the firelight at his back outlining him in a halo of gold. Then he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

Elizabeth's eyes slid shut, and her world seemed to narrow down to that one focal point, the only place where their bodies touched. She was only dimly aware of his weight joining hers on the bed, the subtle but irresistible pressure of his lips against hers urging her to lie back as she completely lost herself in the sensation of the kiss. Awareness faded away, and nothing mattered save for the feel of his warm mouth upon hers, feeding her his passion like mother's milk to a starving infant, nourishing her own desire, causing it to grow within her until she felt her body could no longer contain it.

At last, his lips withdrew, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Jack's swarthy face hovering mere inches above hers. It occurred to her that she had never seen his face so solemn, as if he were weighing the consequences of what he was about to do. Leaning his body across hers, he placed his left arm on her far side, fingering the fastening at the top of her bodice with his right hand. He hesitated.

"Elizabeth," he whispered in a serious tone, for once using her given name, momentarily dropping his masks. "I realise you're a novice at this, and are about to enter frightening and uncharted waters. And, knowin' me as you do, given our past history, I also realise I haven't given you much reason to trust me.

"But, darlin'," he murmured lowly, his voice hoarse with banked passion, "I want you to know, I won't do anythin' you don't want me to do. You have only to say the word, and I will stop. I may be a pirate, a scoundrel, an opportunist, and a hundred other things people have accused me of bein', most of it with just cause ... but forcing myself upon unwilling women cannot be counted amongst my many sins."

He smiled roguishly then, and the familiar masks shifted back into place. "Not that I've ever _encountered_ an unwilling woman, mind you." His voice deepened to a low, masculine purr as he leaned closer. "After all, I can be most ... _persuasive_, luv. Savvy?" He pulled, and the bow at the collar of her shift unraveled. She felt his finger graze her as he slipped it underneath the knot, working it loose, until the closure parted, the cloth falling away to either side like the pages of an open book, exposing her upper chest. With his fingertips barely skimming her skin, he traced the curve of her jaw, the arch of her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, before moving to explore the valley between her breasts.

Elizabeth could scarcely breathe. Her eyes closed at the sensations evoked by his light touch, her lips parting on her quickened breath. Why did not Will's touch inflame her like this? Fire her blood to this degree, set her pulse pounding and her heart racing as though it would burst from her very chest? Will had never dared to take such liberties with her, though in her heart of hearts she often wished that he would try. But he was maddeningly, frustratingly honourable, and would only go so far ... and as sweet as Will's kisses were, she always found herself wanting ... more.

Jack's earlier words rang silently in her ears, echoing through her reeling mind ...

_" ... no apologies, no regrets ..."_

_" ... you're still a free woman ..."_

_" ... free ..."_

_" ... just give in ..."_

_Yes. _Her eyes slid back open, to gaze boldly into his, the alcohol in her blood lending her Dutch courage. "Well, then, Captain Sparrow," her own finger rose to trace the sensuous curve of his lower lip as she whispered passionately, "Persuade me ..."

His eyes darkened sensually as he crooked a gold-glinted grin. "I thought you'd never ask, luv ..."

And then his lips closed on hers again, and she gave in ...

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I hereby give readers fair warning that the next chapter contains material of an adult nature which has earned this story its "M" rating. Ye of a more sensitive nature who are easily offended by Sparrabeth smut, venture onward at your own risk ..._


	5. The Breaking Storm

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

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_Author's Note:_**_ Warning! Torrid Sparrabeth smut ahead! If you be offended by such things, turn back now! Ye have been warned!_**

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**Chapter 5  
****The Breaking Storm**

Once she had decided to stop resisting Jack's advances, and accept the mutual attraction between them -- the attraction that had been there ever since that first moment on the dock in Port Royal, when she had opened her eyes to see Jack's dripping-wet face hovering above her -- it was as if a Pandora's box deep inside her had been thrown open, releasing all the libidinous desires she had held tightly, carefully in check. Now, buoyed by the freeing influence of rum and the power of those unleashed desires, Elizabeth was determined not to lose this opportunity to realise some of those secret fantasies that had heretofore been confined strictly to the realm of her dreams.

For once, Jack let actions speak for him rather than his usual, occasionally dizzying deluge of words, his mouth working a particularly potent brand of persuasion upon her, first feeding upon her succulent mouth, then moving to the delicate column of her neck. As he sucked and nipped at her throat, the beads from his chin braids brushed her collarbone, adding yet another layer to the tidal wave of stimulus barraging her, and Elizabeth found herself sinking in a sea of sweet sensation. Her pulse leapt under Jack's seeking lips, and she felt him smile against her neck.

As he raised his head from her neck to give her a long, lingering, open-mouthed kiss, Jack slipped his hand inside her loosened bodice, his calloused fingertips brushing the sensitive tip of her breast. Elizabeth gasped into his mouth, then fell more deeply, voraciously, into the kiss.

Jack's experienced touch knew just what to do to stoke the fires of her passion, and when his lips at last released hers, moving to the gap in her shift to replace his fingers at her breast, she reacted as if struck by lightning, her body surging beneath him like a wave under a ship's hull. Twining her fingers in his dreadlocks, she held his head to her breast, compelling him to continue his exquisite explorations. Jack laughed low in his throat, more than happy to oblige her unspoken yet eloquently communicated request. She closed her eyes, revelling in the feeling of his clever mouth upon her tender flesh, and couldn't suppress a moan as Jack applied his lips, teeth and tongue most effectively to the task of arousing her ardour and bringing her pleasure.

After long moments of riding the tide of Jack's desire, letting him steer her deftly through these strange and turbulent waters, Elizabeth found that she was no longer content to be merely a passive participant in her ravishment. Tightening her fingers in his hair, she tugged at Jack's dreadlocks, pulling his face back up to hers. Wrapping her arms tightly around Jack's neck, she rolled him over so that their positions were now reversed, with her on top of him. She straddled his waist, her shift riding up her supple thighs, then leaned forward to return the favour he had just bestowed upon her, raining warm, moist kisses upon his mouth, face, neck.

Finally able to fully indulge her earlier impulse to touch him, without fear, shame, or embarrassment, she ran her palms over Jack's broad shoulders, across the breadth of his leanly-muscled chest, down the taut plain of his stomach. Sliding her body lower, so that her naked thighs now embraced his hips, she bent over and kissed each of his scars, tasting his sun-bronzed skin with her tongue. Despite the recent bath, his skin was still rich with the tang of ocean brine and salty sea air.

Mimicking one of his own tactics, her mouth tentatively closed over Jack's right nipple, her tongue swirling around it, and she peered up at him to gauge his reaction as he gasped and emitted a low moan, his face going slack with pleasure. "Yes, luv!" he whispered roughly through clenched teeth. With a wicked grin that would have done Jack proud, Elizabeth took the little nub of flesh gently between her pearly teeth. "Oh, God, _yes_...!" He arched his hips below her, and she could feel him pressing against her through his breeches.

With a growl and a surge of motion, he reversed their positions yet again, pinning her to the bed, plundering the rich bounty of her luscious mouth with abandon, his warm hands gliding up her ribcage to cup both her breasts through the damp fabric of her shift.

"Give me your tongue, Lizzie," he murmured against her lips. "Tip me the velvet, luv." As her tongue slipped into his mouth, he suckled on it greedily, as if savouring the sweetest confection. His hands abandoned her breasts and moved to her thighs, skimming up them, pushing her shift practically up to her waist. Grinding his hips against hers, he pleaded against her mouth, "Let me in, Lizzie ... I can't bear it any longer! Say yes!_ Please_ ...!!"

His urgent words, and the feel of the hardness of him between her legs, suddenly cut through the haze of desire like a lighthouse beacon, bringing her to her senses. _Oh my God! What am I doing? _With a concentrated effort, she pushed him away and gasped, "No ... I can't! I _won't_!"

For a moment there was an expression on his face, in his eyes, akin to fury, and Elizabeth was suddenly afraid that she had gone too far, that he wouldn't take _no_ for an answer, despite his earlier promise to let her set the boundaries. The Jack now lying atop her was a complete stranger to her, dark and dangerous, a man who was capable of murder, and mayhem, and more.

Then, with an agonised groan, Jack rolled off her, and they both lie panting side-by-side on the narrow bed. "Ah, Lizzie!" he moaned, "You're killin' me, luv! I'm _dyin'_ with the wantin' of you!"

"I'm sorry," she whispered breathily. "But I just can't do it ... I just can't betray Will in that way – not that what we've done so far _hasn't _been a kind of betrayal." She felt the hot flush of shame fill her face as she rearranged her skirts and pulled her displaced shift back up her shoulders, holding the gap in front modestly closed with one hand. "Please understand. I am betrothed to Will ... and I want him to be the first ... and for him to _know _without question that he's my first." She turned her face to him, and she felt the prickle of tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I know how unfair it is to you, Jack ... me leading you on like this, letting you think that we could ..." Her flushed face blushed an even darker shade of red. "Well, you know ..."

"My dear Lizzie," Jack said, lowly, his voice strained with the effort to rein in his desire and curb his frustration. "I said t'was your decision to make, and I meant it -- God help me! However, I'll have you know ..." he rolled over on his side, facing her, and the Jack she knew had returned, looking down at her with a trace of sardonic humour in his familiar sable eyes, "... that there is so much more to pleasurin' a woman than just ... well, 'dockin' the dinghy', so to speak." He flashed her a brief half-smile, brilliant as summer lightning, and gone just as quickly. "And I don't begrudge young Will the right to claim sole possession of that special treasure you would offer him on your wedding night, though that cursed honest streak in me compels me to confess I wish that jewel was mine for the takin'."

"Jack ..." she began, but he silenced her with a finger against her lips.

"_However_ ... if you insist on goin' to your marriage bed with your maidenhood intact, there are ... _other_ courses one might chart to arrive at satisfaction, without breachin' those barriers and compromisin' your maidenly virtue."

As her glistening eyes regarded him with confusion, he leaned forward to nuzzle the delicate shell of her ear. "That is, if you're willin' to try them ..." he whispered, and pressed a soft kiss to her earlobe before gently capturing it between his teeth, tickling it with the tip of his tongue. Elizabeth's eyes drifted shut as Jack's tongue moved to swirl around the tender whorls of her ear, then flicked into her ear canal. She responded to the aural invasion with a little, startled gasp.

While his quite talented tongue worked at her ear and neck, his long, ring-bejewelled fingers started tracking down her body, tracing through the still-damp cloth of her shift the swell of her breast, the narrowness of her waist, the curve of her hip. His hand paused to fondle her dimpled knee, before gliding up under the hem of her shift to caress the silky inside of her thigh. Elizabeth felt her resolve wavering under the erotic influence of Jack's touch. She began to tremble violently ...

To her disappointment, the touch disappeared as he drew away slightly, but then almost immediately she felt his arm slip between her neck and the pillow, the muscles tightening, urging her into a sitting position. Her eyes slid open dreamily to gaze into his, and she made no effort to hide the desire she knew must be burning in their depths. At this very moment, she felt that she would let him do just about _anything_ ...

Bringing his face close to hers, he rubbed his nose against hers before planting a playful kiss on its pert tip. "What say we get you out of that wet thing, darlin', and warm you up proper?" he murmured against her mouth just before his lips claimed hers, his hands gradually coaxing her damp shift up past her hips, her waist, her breasts. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the offending garment up and over her head, tossing it carelessly toward the chair that already held her discarded frock and corset.

Elizabeth shivered involuntarily as the cool air touched her clammy skin, and she felt gooseflesh rise on her upper body and down along her arms. The skin around her nipples tightened, causing them to harden in an automatic response to the chill ...

... and then her entire front was blanketed in a welcome warmth as Jack pulled her against his naked chest.

To her chilled flesh, he felt like a burning coal, radiating heat through the surface of his skin like a blacksmith's furnace. Where his exposed skin touched hers, she felt that heat flow from his body into hers, burning away her frost like the sun on winter grass, leaving fire in its wake. Without conscious thought, she wrapped as much of herself as she could around him, arms and legs encircling him in a tight embrace, wanting to draw as much of that heat as possible into herself.

Apparently her reaction came as a surprise to Jack, for he froze in her arms. Then, with a chuckle, she felt his own arms come around her, encompassing her, until she was all but enveloped in his radiant warmth and masculine scent. For long seconds, he did nothing but hold her tightly in the comforting circle of his arms, content to share his body heat with her.

And then he buried one hand in her hair, pulling her head back gently until her face tilted up to his.

This time, when he kissed her, it was without restraint, him devouring her mouth as though he would consume her, and she faintly realised how much he had been holding back, until this moment.

Fire blossomed throughout her body at the touch of his demanding lips, and when his tongue found hers her veins became threads of molten lava, warming her from inside much as the rum had earlier, except more thoroughly, more intensely, more pleasurably.

"Lizzie ..." he murmured against her lips, between kisses. "You're _so_ delicious, Lizzie .." Another kiss. "I could just eat you up ..."

When he pulled away again, his black eyes were alight with mischief, and inspiration. "Hang on just a moment, luv," he said. "Don't move ... I'll be right back ..."

He left the bed, and when he returned mere seconds later he held one of the earthenware jars. Removing the lid, he dipped his hand in, extracting a piece of coconut, dripping with its rum-laced glaze, then put the jar down on the floor, next to the bed.

Elizabeth had only time to wonder briefly how he could be hungry -- at least, for _food_ -- at a time like this, when he brought the sugary treat to her mouth, which opened automatically to accept it. As Jack slipped it between her lips, some of the syrup pooled in the corner of her mouth and began to trickle down her chin.

As she chewed and swallowed, she brought her hand up, intending to wipe the sticky mess away, but Jack grabbed her wrist, gently. There was a look of anticipation in his dark eyes, like a starving man about to partake of a sumptuous feast. "No, luv ..." He grinned slowly, seductively, "... allow me."

He leaned forward, and she felt his tongue at the corner of her mouth. Then his lips were caressing her chin as he cleaned that as well, his moustache tickling her lower lip in the process.

He pulled away, reaching into the jar for another piece. This time, he brushed it across her lips, leaving them glossy with the thick, sweet liquid. Then he eased the bit of coconut into her mouth, and immediately lowered his mouth to hers.

As his mouth fastened in an "o" around hers, his tongue swept slowly across her lips, then dipped in to find the bit of coconut nestled upon her tongue. He sucked her tongue into his mouth along with the treat, feasting on both until he finally claimed the sweetmeat for his own. Only then did he relinquish possession of her mouth.

Elizabeth gasped as Jack released her. She no longer felt a trace of her earlier chill. Her body was now blazing with heat.

Jack chewed slowly on his oh-so-pleasurably-won prize as he bent to fetch yet another piece from the jar, and raised it above her body. Elizabeth sucked her breath in sharply as she felt the syrup patter onto her upper chest and trickle slowly down the valley between her breasts. Then Jack placed the chunk of coconut between his teeth, and brought his mouth again to hers, pushing the morsel into her mouth with his tongue as he kissed her ...

As she rolled the confection around in her mouth, savouring it, Jack moved his lips to her body, following the path of the trickling syrup, licking the sticky drops from her satiny skin, pausing to nibble at her collarbone, then dragging his tongue down her breastbone until he was nuzzling the tender flesh between her breasts.

Elizabeth's breath quickened as Jack's mouth moved over her, feasting upon her body as though it were a well-laden banquet table, and wherever he touched her, her skin tingled with excitement, until her whole being felt afire, ready to burst with barely-contained desire. She leaned back against the pillow, and this time her trembling had nothing whatsoever to do with the cold ...

Jack held the next piece over her stomach, letting its sugary fluid drip down to pool in the shallow reservoir of her navel. "Oh, dear ... look what I've done now!" he said in mock distress, before nestling the cube of coconut right in her navel. "Shall I clean up this mess, my dear Miss Swann?"

She flinched slightly as his mouth alit on her belly, his lips caressing the flesh around the dimpled recess, before zeroing in on the centre. He sucked the treat from its delightful little nest, chewed and swallowed it quickly, then dipped his tongue into the little hollow, drinking in the sweet nectar like a hummingbird suckling at a flower.

Elizabeth made a small breathy sound, between a moan and a sigh, her eyes slipping closed as she was overwhelmed by the strange and wonderful sensations elicited by Jack's touch. As his tongue again invaded her navel, her stomach muscles tightened and her hips rose slightly off the surface of the bed.

Once Jack had finished supping upon her belly, he took one last piece of coconut from the jar. Though Elizabeth's eyes were still closed, they snapped open again once she felt the cool drops of moisture hitting the peak of one breast. She watched with passion-bright eyes as Jack moved to give the other breast the same treatment, bathing its tip in dripping syrup. Holding the bit of coconut in one hand, he used the forefinger of his other to make little concentric circles around each of her nipples, spreading out the sweet glaze like icing over the surface of a cake.

The feel of his teasing fingers upon her caused a whole new set of sensations to sweep over her body like a brush-fire through a tinder-dry forest, and Elizabeth writhed beneath his touch. Jack, apparently realising the effect he was having on her, grinned wickedly, and seemed to take a little more time than necessary completing his deliciously erotic task.

At last his fingers stopped their motion upon her now-glistening breasts, and he brought the piece of coconut to her mouth, waiting for her to open her lips and claim it, as she had done the others. On an impulse, Elizabeth snared his wrist, plucked the bit from his fingers, and tossed it carelessly away. Bringing Jack's hand to her mouth, she lapped the sweet sticky residue from his index finger, her tongue swirling against the sensitive pad of his fingertip, before drawing it slowly into the warm cavern of her mouth.

She heard his intake of breath as she sucked the syrupy balm from his finger until no trace of sweetness remained, then she moved on to the next one.

He grunted as the second digit disappeared into her mouth, and then the third. As she nursed upon his finger, she hazarded a glance at Jack, and saw that he had completely lost his composure. His hooded eyes had closed to mere slits, his mouth hung slack, his nostrils flared with heightened desire. Elizabeth felt a little _frisson _of satisfaction that she had the power to affect him so ...

She had just started on the fingers of his other hand, when he moaned and gasped out, in a strained voice, "Luv, if you don't stop that, and soon, I won't be held accountable for me actions! I just may not be able to hold to the promise I made you earlier ..."

She let him draw his finger out of her mouth, and then, with a savage hunger in his deep brown eyes, he fell ravenously upon her honeyed flesh.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply as the moist warmth of Jack's mouth found the peak of her right breast, drawing it in, his tongue tracing circles around the perimeter. Her hips shifted fitfully as ripples of pleasure vibrated through her, going straight to her core. Just when she thought she would go mad with the excess of sensory stimulation, Jack's lips closed on her tender nipple, suckling it gently at first, then with increasing pressure almost to the point of pain, and Elizabeth nearly died as the raw need, the agony of unfulfilled desire, tore at her body ...

... and the ache was centred in one particular place, that most intimate, most secret of places ...

She wanted desperately for Jack to touch her in that place ...

While her head moved restlessly on the pillow, Jack's mouth started trailing heated kisses down her body, while, like a great jungle cat, his softly-lapping tongue attempted to clean the last of the sticky sweetness away from her chest and belly ... moving lower, getting ever closer to _that_ place.

When he finished, his head lay poised between her thighs.

He looked up at her over her supine form, passion blazing in the dark mysterious pools of his eyes, and whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, "Trust me, Elizabeth." His warm hands were now on her inner thighs, exerting a gentle pressure. "Open yourself up to me, luv. Let me ravish you with my kisses."

And, with a small sigh of surrender, she did ...

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The rapture, when it came, was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and so much more than she ever could have imagined. The tension gathered in her lower belly like thunderclouds in a summer sky, the pressure building slowly, gradually, maddeningly until the storm at last broke in a maelstrom of unbridled energy, lashing her with its primal fury. She trembled as wave after wave of delight crashed down upon her, pounding her with sweet sensation, robbing her of breath and coherent thought.

She cried out, her hands flailing, seeking something solid to hold on to, to anchor her lest she fly away into the storm-battered night ... and then two hands were there for her, and she grasped them convulsively, until the rippling tide of pleasure crested one final time, and then subsided, leaving her weak and drained and dewed with perspiration. As she went limp, her grip relaxed and the hands slipped from her grasp.

Next thing she knew, Jack was beside her again, gathering her up in strong arms, cradling her to his chest tenderly as her gasping breaths gradually slowed.

"Oh ... Jack!" she exhaled the words on little puffs of breath, still wrapped in the afterglow of her very first climax. "That was ... that was ..."

He kissed her damp brow, so very gently. "Hush, luv ... I know," he whispered against her tousled hair. "I know."

She turned her face up to his, and his lips captured hers. This time the kiss they shared was slow, languorous, leisurely. But it didn't stay so for long, as the ardour stirred and grew again.

When Jack at last broke the kiss, he peered into her flushed face, into her passion-drunk eyes, and asked, "Ready for more, luv?" He looked gratified to see her nod of affirmation.

"Oh, yes," she breathed shakily. "Please ..."

"All right. But first, luv," his hand stroked slowly down the length of her torso, still slightly tacky from the sweet, sticky feast they had shared, and he smiled evilly as he said, "I think it's _your _turn for a bath ..."

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_**Author's Note:** Warning! Smut continues in the next chapter ..._


	6. Turnabout is Fair Play

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

_**

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Author's Note:**__ Still charting perilous, M-rated waters here! If ye be offended by such blatant descriptions of adult sensuality, then set a course for calmer waters ... If not, then sail on, and let 'er run straight and true ... _

_Enjoy!_

_-- Cat_**

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**Chapter 6  
Turnabout is Fair Play**

Elizabeth's eyes followed Jack around the cottage as he drained the cold, spent water from the tub and went through the preparations for her bath. While he worked, he had taken the time to refasten his scarf around his head, and the sight of him moving around the softly-lit room, still mostly naked with the golden fire- and lamplight gleaming off his sun-bronzed skin, fascinated her no end. He had even taken the care to hang her damp shift by the fire, next to his own clothing, to hasten its drying.

A small smile curved her full lips. In her wildest dreams, she could never have imagined the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow drawing her a bath, waiting on her hand and foot, like a servant, seeing to her comforts ... A hint of satisfaction coloured her smile. _And_ to her needs.

Of course, she had never envisioned herself serving as a pirate's bathhouse wench and laundress either, but fate had seemed to decree otherwise ...

Collecting a new bath sheet and soap from the cupboard, he placed them on the end of the table closest to the tub, and then approached the bed and made a little servile bow, a mocking smile gracing his lips, his dark eyes alight with humour. "Your bath stands ready, m'lady."

Before she could so much as sit up, Jack bent over and scooped her up from the bed into the cradle of his strong arms, nestling her against his broad chest as he carried her to the tub.

"Jack ..." she started to protest that she wasn't feeble, and could very well make her way to the tub under her own power, but he stifled her words with a wonderfully thorough, deeply probing kiss, making all such thoughts fly from her head like so much thistledown on a summer breeze. She draped her arms languidly around his neck. Nothing could possibly be as important as the feel of his sensuous mouth upon hers ...

Without breaking the kiss, Jack began lowering her into the tub. She felt the rising steam lick her naked back, adding its sultry heat to the fire already burning within her, just before her shapely bum touched hot water.

She hissed slightly, sucking in Jack's breath as he slowly immersed her in the tub, the water for a moment feeling uncomfortably hot as it closed around her exposed flesh. But by the time her backside came to rest on the bottom, she had grown accustomed to it, the hiss transforming into a sigh of pleasure, giving the borrowed breath back to Jack. She relaxed into the all-encompassing warmth of the bathwater, surrendering to its fluid embrace much as she had surrendered to Jack's welcoming heat, before.

The kiss finally ended as Elizabeth let her head drop back against the lip of the tub, her body going pleasantly limp as she let the hot water work its soothing magic upon her body, obliterating the last traces of chill, easing aches and loosening knots she hadn't even been aware were there until they started to unknit. The chest-deep water lapped gently at her breasts, each wave teasing her nipples like a little flick of a tongue. Her eyes drifted shut, and a smile of pure sensual enjoyment spread across her lips.

"Keep lookin' like that, luv, and I may just be tempted to join you in there ..." Jack quipped, and she felt his fingers brush her burnished gold hair back from her face. "And I've never, _ever _felt moved to have _two_ baths in the same day." He paused, and she could hear the grin in his voice. "Well, except for Singapore, that is ..."

Her eyes slid back open, to gaze into Jack's face. Indeed, the saucy grin was there, just as she had imagined, his eyes brimming with lust and deviltry, his swarthy face shiny from the steam rising from the hot bathwater. For a moment, his eyes remained fixed on her face, then flicked down to scan her body through the clear water.

He left her vision for a moment as he leaned over to the table, and when he returned to her sight, he held a bar of soap in his hand. She raised her hand out of the bathwater, palm-up, expecting Jack to give her the soap so she could begin her ablutions. But, rather than placing the soap in her hand, he held it just out of her reach. "No, luv ... I'll do the honours. You just lay back, and enjoy ..."

He dipped the soap in the water, and she watched, spellbound, as he rubbed it slowly, suggestively, between the palms of his hands, his long fingers caressing the cake with deliberate sensuality. She imagined those soapy fingers moving across her body, just as she knew he had intended by his little show of fondling the soap. She was reminded again of what a master manipulator Jack Sparrow was ...

And then her imagination became a reality as Jack set aside the soap, and laid his hands upon her body ...

His fingertips curled around the back of her neck just below her ears and, with his thumbs poised below her chin, he drew his soapy hands slowly down its length, his thumbs tracing down the centre of her neck from chin to the little notch at the base of her throat, his fingers working the lather into her ivory skin now flushed a pale pink from the temperature of the water ... and other, more stimulating things. He repeated the motion several times, before moving down and across the gentle slope of her shoulders, massaging the muscles and brushing his calloused thumbs across her delicate collarbones.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of Jack's strong fingers kneading her tense flesh. Even as his deft touch worked loose the knots of her muscles with the same practised ease with which he had, earlier, undone the tie of her shift, she felt a different kind of tension coiling, gathering, tightening lower in her body ...

After a brief pause to lather up his hands again, Jack moved behind Elizabeth. Going to his knees at the head of the washtub, he placed his hands upon her shoulders, then, exerting a gentle pressure, urged her to lean forward slightly.

His hands started skimming over the planes of her shoulder blades and down her back, his fingers digging gently into her flesh, drawing little soapy circles upon her skin. When he reached the point where her waist disappeared beneath the water, he slid his hands up along her ribs, sliding them around her body until his arms were encircling her waist from behind. Tightening his arms, he drew her to him until the back of her blonde head came to rest against the centre of his chest.

As his foamy hands travelled up her torso to cup both her breasts, Elizabeth tilted her head back as far as it would go, until Jack's inverted face swam into her vision. Stretching out her arms, she brought them up and around Jack's neck, slipping her hands under his wild mane of elflocks. Linking her fingers behind his neck, she pulled his face down to hers, and angled her head slightly to afford him better access to the lush offering of her lips.

As his mouth slanted over hers from behind, his soap-slick hands started moving over the front of her body, moulding her breasts, sliding over their sensitive tips until they hardened under his fingers, then moving below the water to stroke her flat stomach before returning to the sweet swell of her bosom. Elizabeth arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly into Jack's hands, kissing him with an almost frantic passion, opening her mouth to him welcomingly as his tongue sought hers.

A voice somewhere deep within her ... a voice that sounded suspiciously like her old catechism tutor -- a pinch-faced, harpy-toned old nun who couldn't have been a day under ninety years old ... told her that she should be ashamed of what she was doing, that such wanton displays were not proper and acceptable for a young lady of breeding, and a sin in the eyes of God.

But as a veritable inferno raged through her body at Jack's touch, so hot that it was a miracle the bathwater didn't boil away around her, she didn't care ... didn't care what was proper, or socially acceptable, or harmful to one's reputation, or even morally correct ... all she knew was, somehow, this felt _right_ ... to have someone's hands playing over her body until it vibrated and hummed with sweet silent music, like a plucked violin string ... to feel a mouth feeding on hers, hungrily, voraciously, as if only she could provide vital sustenance ... to give herself over to the thousand delicious feelings laying delightful siege to her body.

_This_ was true freedom ... the freedom to do whatever she wanted to do, deep in her heart of hearts ... indulge her desires, with no concern for the consequences, and damn anyone who dared to hold her back, or to plague her with that cursed phrase, _You must not do that ..._

They fed upon one another, breathlessly, until Jack's hands ceased their soapy explorations, and he raised his mouth from hers. Disappointment flooded her, and she tried to pull him back down to her, but he murmured quickly, with a sly smile, "Easy, luv. I just want to move closer to you. There are other places I want to touch, but I can't reach them from way up here ..." She reluctantly let him go, and he moved back around to the side of the tub.

"Here I am, luv," he said, leaning over her with his familiar crooked smile, the flickering firelight dancing in his dark eyes like fireflies trapped in a jar. "Ready, willin' and able for you to have your way with me ..."

Elizabeth surged upward, setting the bathwater sloshing violently against and over the side of the tub, and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her hungry mouth. Caught unawares, he overbalanced and tumbled into the tub with her. A small tsunami of bathwater inundated them both, rinsing the soap suds from Elizabeth's body and washing over Jack's elflocked head.

Jack came up, sputtering, bathwater sluicing from his body and dripping from his soaking wet braids, his face a mask of surprise and exaggerated outrage.

Elizabeth's eyes went wide as she wiped bathwater from her face, her mouth twitching as she fought off the laughter that threatened to burst from her lips at the sight of Jack, rising up from the water like the mythical _Flying Dutchman_, looking like a half-drowned wharf rat.

"You ... you _strumpet_! You _brat_!" he sputtered melodramatically, a trace of gravel suffusing his tone as it always did when he raised his voice to a shout. "You wicked, _wicked_ wench!" Then as he gazed down at his sopping breeches, then at her, a deliciously evil smile lit his face. "You're goin' to have to _pay_ for this, you know ...!"

"Pay? What for? I've only gotten my own back, for the little soaking you gave _me_ earlier." She smiled at him in self-satisfaction. "I think we're square now ..."

"Not by a long shot, missy!" He peered down at her with a malicious twinkle in his eyes. He lowered himself until he was practically lying on top of her, his face hovering just above hers, his lips a breath away from her own. "I'll have to think of a suitable punishment, luv. After all," he whispered huskily against her lips, "the wicked _must _be punished, mustn't they?" He opened his mouth and dipped his head as if to kiss her, and Elizabeth closed her eyes in anticipation. But the kiss never came. She felt his breath teasing her lips, frustratingly close but not quite touching.

She opened her eyes, and the dark light burning in Jack's sent a thrill coursing through her body. She lifted her head, tried to close that tiny gap between her lips and his, but he pulled his face back, eluding her touch. His black-rimmed eyes flashed, pinning her with a smouldering look that made her catch her breath. "What do you _want_, luv?" His deep voice, like rich, black velvet, caressed her ears. His hand found her breast, started to stroke it with a maddeningly light touch.

"I want -- I want you to _kiss_ me," she breathed, her eyes drifting half-closed as his finger circled her nipple, skimming around but not quite touching it.

"Ah, but you can't _always_ have what you want, luv. Surely you know that." His finger finally grazed her nipple, sending a quiver of pleasure down her body, straight to her core.

"Jack ..." she gasped, "Please ..."

"Please _what_, darlin'?" he said, his voice mildly insinuating. "It seems _I've_ been the one doin' all the pleasin' tonight." He dipped his hand in the bathwater and brought it up over her body, letting the warm water trickle through his fingers and drip, slowly, like a Spanish water torture, onto her bosom. Then his hand, now slick from the soapy bathwater, closed on her breast, gently kneading her slippery flesh. "I've been dancin' to your tune all evenin', Lizzie. Now it's time to pay the piper, luv." His lip curled up on one side in a half-smile, exposing his teeth. "What's in it for _me_? What do _I_ get in return?" His thumb brushed her nipple, moving back and forth over it with a steady and maddeningly slow rhythm.

"What ... what do _you_ want?" she asked breathily, an edge of frustration in her voice as he continued to tease her mercilessly. She was afraid of what the answer would be, that he would demand that which she had already denied him ...

He smiled smugly. "Ah! Finally, you're askin' the _right_ question, luv!" His hand enclosed her breast, a little less gently this time, and he nuzzled that sensitive spot just behind her ear. "What I _want_, luv ..." he whispered roughly into her ear, "is for _you _to touch _me _..."

Her momentary relief at him not asking her again to surrender her virginity was obliterated by a hot flush of embarrassment. "T-touch you?"

He took her right hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her palm, his tongue lightly tracing her lifeline as he stared into her eyes with a dark and hungry look, then guided it under the murky surface of the water. At some point, he had managed to unfasten his breeches, and now he steered her hand through the open flap, then closed her fingers around something long and firm and warm to the touch, sheathed in satiny softness.

Elizabeth sucked in her breath as she realised what she held in her hand. Her face burned, but she didn't let go ...

She thought of the rapture that Jack had given her this night, that all-consuming tide of bliss that had left her exhilarated and enervated all at the same time ... and the various things he had done to see to her pleasure -- and it _had_ been pleasure ... a sweet, intense, almost unendurable pleasure -- selflessly setting aside his own ...

... at least, until now.

Was it so unreasonable that he should be entitled to get _something_ in return? After all, he'd asked for nothing so far but some kisses, and a few intimate touches ... a small thing, really, all things considered.

She flexed her hand, and felt him start to grow and swell in her grip.

Her eyes widened. Well, maybe not such a _small _thing, after all ...

"There, luv," Jack said in a voice that was nearly a moan. "Don't be afraid. Go ahead ... pet him. He _likes_ to be petted. Don't worry, luv ... he won't bite." He grinned wickedly. "Me, on the other hand ..." He leaned forward and started nibbling and sucking on her neck, pulling at her tender flesh gently, drawing a small fold of her skin between his teeth and tasting it with his tongue as his hand continued to wreak sweet torture upon her breast. A shiver ran through her body, and she spasmodically squeezed her hand around him.

He gasped in a mixture of pleasure and pain. "Careful, luv ... gently, _gently_ ... he wants a firm grip, but you don't want to strangle him ..." His hand covered hers, guiding her, showing her what to do.

She let him manipulate her hand for a few strokes, then ...

"Jack," she said in a hard voice, fighting to rein in her frustration and anger, her clipped tones snapping out the words with an icy precision, "I know very well what _that_ is, and what it's for ..." Her eyes narrowed, flashing cold fire at him. "And if you don't cease speaking to me as though I were some idiot child with a new pup, and kiss me, right now ..." She deliberately tightened her grip on him, and he squeaked in pain, "... I'm going to do more than _strangle_ 'him' ..." She smiled a shark's smile up at him, her lips drawing back from even, white teeth. "Savvy?"

Jack's eyes first widened in shocked surprise, then as she relaxed her hold on him, the shock drained away and his eyes filled with dark fire, a lusty grin breaking across his swarthy face, his own teeth flashing white and gold in the firelight. "Now, there's my feisty Lizzie!" he said, proudly, passionately.

And then his lips crashed down onto hers, fiercely, almost bruisingly, and she responded in kind. As Jack fell into the kiss with a wild abandon to match hers, his hands returned to her body as if he had memorised where he had left off, like a page marked in a well-loved book. Elizabeth's hand moved to bring him to pleasure, her embarrassment forgotten for the moment as she marvelled at the feel of him in her hand, hard yet soft as watered silk.

Soon his breathing became harsh, staccato, and his face contorted almost as if in pain. "Faster, luv ... faster!" he panted, driving his hips forward, pushing himself into her hand almost frantically. The bathwater churned around them like a maelstrom, stirred up by the tumultuous storm of their shared desire.

Then he froze, and she felt him twitch in her grasp, his hips jerking forward convulsively, and an expression of indescribable ecstasy came over his rugged features, his mouth slack, eyes closed as he was swept up in the paroxysm of his release ... his darkly handsome face for once entirely open and vulnerable, naked ...

Jack went limp, in all senses of the word, and collapsed atop her with a splash, his head falling into the crook of her shoulder, his hot breath puffing against her skin. Then he turned his head, and pressed his lips to her neck, right over the sore spot left by his worrying teeth. "Well, luv," he panted against her ear, "Your technique leaves a bit to be desired, but I can't argue with the results ..." He raised his head and gave her a deep, lingering kiss that was both passionate and extraordinarily gentle.

When the kiss ended, he looked down into Elizabeth's face and said, with a crooked grin as his waterlogged elflocks dripped their rapidly-falling tears all around her, "Have you ever noticed, Lizzie, the strange and quite remarkable role that water has played in our encounters?"

She grinned back at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him, softly. "So ... what now?" she asked.

"Well, darlin' ... I reckon, after what you just did for me, you've more than earned a reward of your own ..."

Pulling her closer to him in the tight confines of the tub, and shifting so that he was lying more beside her than on top of her, he nestled her in the crook of one arm, his other hand travelling slowly, artfully over the slick surface of her body, working his own special brand of magic upon her already inflamed flesh. This time, when his mouth moved to cover hers, his kiss was soft, tender, almost careful against her swollen and bruised lips. Moving his lips from her mouth to the peak of one breast, Jack began to trail his hand down her body, venturing under the surface of the water, to run his submerged hand down over her belly and abdomen, then lower still, his fingertips seeking ...

As he found her centre and slowly eased a finger inside her, Elizabeth gasped and tensed against him.

"Is this all right, luv?" he murmured against her delectable breast, his tongue circling then flicking at her nipple. "If I'm hurtin' you, darlin', just say so, and I'll stop ..."

"No ... don't stop," she breathed. She ached, _burned_ to experience that exquisite pleasure again, no matter what the cost. "Please ..."

That's all the encouragement he needed. With her permission now given, he began moving within her, slowly and steadily at first, then with increasing speed as her hips rose to meet his thrusting fingers, sending more bathwater cascading onto the floor. He started trailing warm, moist, open-mouthed kisses across her breasts, and she responded with little moans of pleasure.

She felt Jack shift, and then his mouth closed over hers again, his tongue dipping in then out again, settling into a rhythm to match the actions of his probing fingers, delightfully invading her both above and below. His thumb gently stroked and massaged that most sensitive part of her, sending currents of voluptuous sensation rippling through her body. That coil of agonising anticipation tightened in her belly, wanting release, and she felt that tide rising again, that rapidly-approaching wave that threatened to sweep her away and carry her down in its watery arms, down into the unfathomable depths where not death but bliss awaited ...

_Oh, God! _she wanted to cry out, _Yes!!! Finish it! Take me, in every way! I want you, Jack! I want __you__!_

But Jack's demanding mouth and busy tongue prevented any sound other than moans from escaping, and she no longer had the breath for speech anyway, because that wave was rushing upon her now, cresting, ready to break over her head and pull her down in its undertow, to drag her down into a sea of pleasure ...

At last Jack drew back from the kiss, cradling her upper body in the circle of his arm, and through the haze of desire she was dimly aware of his dark eyes fixed intently on her, closely watching the play of emotions flickering across her face, his rhythm gradually escalating with the rocking of her hips as her breathing grew more erratic, her chest heaving as she trembled on the brink of fulfilment.

He kissed her brow, and she felt his lips moving against her flushed skin as he whispered, "Almost there, my love ... Let it come, darlin' ... Let it come ..."

At the last moment, she turned to fix her gaze on the dark mirrors of Jack's eyes, and then it was upon her -- that burst of almost unbearable, soul-searing delight -- and she was lost, sinking, drowning in ecstasy ... drowning in the seductive black abyss of Jack's eyes. She cried out as she spasmed around his fingers, the throbbing convulsions seeming to go on forever, and her eyes rolled back in her head with the intensity of the feelings lashing mercilessly at her body.

When it was all over, and her vision cleared, there was only one man in her line of sight, only one man in her mind ...

... and it wasn't Will Turner.

Jack bent down to give her a lingering kiss, this one speaking less of passion and more of true affection as he brushed her damp locks away from her face. She was peripherally aware of him leaning over to retrieve the folded bath sheet from the table, and then he was slipping out of her embrace, standing up, stepping out of the tub, unfurling the sheet and holding it out for her as she sat alone in the rapidly cooling bathwater.

"C'mere, luv. Bath-time is over ... time to get out." Lending her his arm for support, he helped her out of the tub, then wrapped the bath sheet around her, swaddling her in the cloth and in his arms as his hands moved lightly over her, patting her dry.

When he was done, he swept her up and carried her back to the bed. For a while, he sat on the edge of the bed, holding her on his lap, her still wrapped in the damp bath sheet.

She turned to pillow her face on Jack's chest, and she felt the dampness of tears on her face. With his right hand, Jack brushed them away, then clasped her blonde head against him, his hand absently slipping into the damp silken profusion of her honey-hued hair, fondling the back of her head. She slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him to her. "Thank you ... Jack," she sighed contentedly, her desire fully sated, for the moment, leaving her feeling drained and oh-so sleepy.

He paused before answering, and she wondered vaguely what he was thinking. "My pleasure, luv," he murmured, and she could have sworn she felt the brush of his kiss upon her hair. "My pleasure."

He slid her off his lap and onto the bed as he rose, walking toward the fire. He paused to peel out of his sodden breeches, arranging them by the fire with the rest of the drying clothes, and wring out the trailing tail of his headscarf before bending to fetch the discarded coverlet from the floor, where it had lain since slipping from Elizabeth's shoulders when she had risen to defend Will's honour. Elizabeth saw that it had, miraculously, escaped the flood of bathwater, and remained dry.

She had only a moment to admire the sight of Jack's well-toned masculine backside, noting that it was a few shades paler than the rest of his suntanned skin, before he turned back, the blanket held loosely in front of him, obscuring that part of him which she had touched, but not yet seen ...

Jack helped her out of the damp bath sheet, and pulled her into his arms, and down onto the bed. As her head came to rest on the pillow, he reached down with one hand and drew the coverlet over the both of them. He pressed a soft kiss first to her cheek, then to the pale curve of her neck, and whispered, "Get some rest now, luv. You've had a busy night. I won't run off on ya ... I promise." His arms tightened, pulling her naked body up against his, not with passion this time, but caringly, protectively.

In a few minutes, wrapped in the comforting circle of his embrace, the expanse of his warm skin the only blanket she really wanted or needed, she drifted off into the realm of Morpheus ...

* * *


	7. The Morning After

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

_Author's Note:_**_ Getting into the home stretch now ... just this chapter, and the Epilogue left._**

* * *

**

**Chapter 7  
The Morning After**

Elizabeth awakened again to the sound of singing outside her window, but this time it was merely the island birds heralding the approaching dawn. She lay curled on her left side, her right hand tucked between her cheek and the pillow.

She had been lost in a very elaborate, very erotic dream involving her and a certain pirate captain of her recent acquaintance, and she found the dream so pleasant that she was loath to be released from its grip. She imagined she could still feel the afterimage of Jack's lips upon hers, the shadow of his touch upon her pale skin, the feel of his body pressed closely to hers ...

As she slowly came awake, she unfurled her lithe body and stretched, and became aware of a warmth along her back and at her waist. Without conscious thought, she snuggled more closely against the source of that wonderful heat.

Her motion elicited a decided masculine murmur and sigh from the other side of the bed, and then the sound of gentle snoring.

She opened her eyes, and for one disorientated moment didn't know where she was. She realised she wasn't in her bedroom at the house, and was startled to discover that the warmth at her back was another person spooned behind her with one arm draped around her waist.

She also realised, with a shock, that she was naked.

And, when her bed partner shifted slightly in his sleep, and she felt something poking against one of the softly rounded globes of her backside, she realised, so was he ...

Two of the oil lamps had gone out during the night, but the one closest to the bed was still lit, and a fire still burned low on the hearth. By the flickering light, she could just make out the sparrow tattoo and branded letter 'P' on the suntanned arm.

She froze as snatches of memories came back to her, drifting like illusive ghosts through the dark hallways of her mind, and she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment at the misty recollections. Mixed emotions flooded her as she remembered bits and pieces of what had transpired between her and the captain of the _Black Pearl_.

Gingerly removing the tattooed arm from around her waist, she eased from the bed, taking care not to disturb its other occupant, who appeared to be still fast asleep. Her head throbbed as though her brain had grown too large for her skull and was clamouring for release from its confines, and her mouth tasted unpleasantly of stale rum. Turning, she regarded the figure on the bed.

Jack was snoring softly, eyes closed, lips slightly parted so that the firelight glinted off his gold teeth. The covers had been mostly kicked off, and now pooled around his feet. As she had suspected, he was as naked as a newborn babe, save for the scarf swathing his head. Despite her shock at the gloriously nude sight of him, she was taken by how vulnerable he looked just then, so very different from his usual swaggering, cocky self.

She had another flash of memory that caused all the blood to rush to her face in a hot blush: Jack, above her, eyes closed, mouth slack, his face transported in rapture ...

But as the dull ache of the hangover continued to blossom behind her eyes, she wondered just how much of what she was remembering had really happened, and how much had been a manifestation of her fevered dreams, or products of rum-induced fantasies? Everything was a blur in her mind. She had no doubt that _something_ had happened -- for there was Jack, lying naked in the bed she herself had occupied. And she had somehow managed to lose her clothes as well ...

As she sought to unravel the tangled skein of her mind, memories came back to her, so vivid that she knew they _had _to be real and not just a product of her overheated imagination -- Jack's mouth between her legs, bringing her to her first taste of ecstasy ... his fingers gliding over her body, _into _her body ... the sensation of her drowning in the black pools of his eyes, caught inexorably in the undertow of Jack's dark sensuality, and her own ...

But the complete picture failed to materialise, and she was more disturbed by the missing pieces than the ones she _could _bring into focus ...

What exactly _had_ happened?

She looked down at her own naked body, then at Jack's lying in the bed, a dark silhouette against the white sheets, like a shadow cast on a backlit curtain.

Her eyes grew wide as a horrifying thought occurred to her, the sharp talons of uncertainty clawing at her breast. She _didn't_ ... she couldn't _possibly_ have ... _could_ she?

Closing her eyes, she took a quick mental inventory of her body. Her lips felt raw and slightly swollen, and her breasts were sore, their rosy tips tender and somewhat chafed, and there was a spot on the side of her neck that, when she prodded it with her fingers, felt suspiciously like a bruise. But of that most intimate part of her body, the seat of her jealousy-guarded maidenhead ... nothing. No pain, no discomfort, as there surely _would_ be, if she and Jack had done what she feared ... just the certainty that she _had _been touched there, and that touch had brought her indescribable pleasure ...

Yes ... as vague and ephemeral as the rest of her memories were, she _did_ distinctly remember the pleasure!

But the incontrovertible evidence of her body told her that at least some, if not all, of the rest of what she dimly recalled _had _to have happened. Jack feasting upon her lips and breasts, his erotic touches and invasions coaxing her to ecstasy ...

... and she coaxing him as well? She had a sudden sense-memory of silken-hard flesh slipping through the wet circle of her submerged hand ...

She groaned softly as she hid her face in her hands, blushing at memories that, she reluctantly admitted, _had _to be true ...

And she wondered how she could ever bear to look Jack in the face again, after last night, after letting him do the things he had done to her ...

After letting him see her _enjoy_ the things he had done to her ...

She was suddenly angry with herself -- angry for being so weak as to let herself succumb to her inner desires, without a thought as to the consequences -- angry for letting herself indulge in rum, knowing full well its effects (_"... a vile drink," _she had told Jack on the island, when she had burnt up all the stores of rum, _"that turns even the most respectable men into scoundrels..."_) _And the most sensible women into bloody fools ... _she added in her mind.

But most of all, she was ashamed that she had, in her heart and in her actions, been unfaithful to Will. The fact that she apparently hadn't, technically, surrendered her virginity to Jack was irrelevant. She had long thought herself above such temptations, and had always harboured a near-arrogant disdain for those lesser creatures that let themselves fall prey to such sordid sins of the flesh.

However ...

She could not help also recalling the exquisite rapture she had experienced at the touch of Jack's hands and mouth, and, though she hated herself for it, she could not quite find it within herself to be sorry at the events of the previous night ...

Even now, thinking of Will, filled with shame for her indiscretion with Jack, she found herself craving Jack's touch with every fibre of her being ...

Though she still loved Will, she positively _burned_ for Jack ...

Something Jack had said last night suddenly came back to her: _Why should we regret it, when it's something we _both_ want?_

Yes. She _had _wanted it. _Still_ wanted it.

Her eyes drifted back to Jack, sprawled in the bed.

She still wanted _him_. God help her!

As quietly as possible, she retrieved her discarded clothing from the chair back, and put them on. She checked on Jack's clothing, still hanging by the fire, and found all but his breeches to be completely dry. She had another flash of memory: Jack, skinning off his wet breeches and hanging them by the fire, before joining her in the bed ...

Before leaving she stoked up the fire, then appropriated the one lit lamp and slipped silently out of the cottage. She briefly considered waking Jack before she left, then thought better of it. _Best to let sleeping pirates lie_, she thought to herself.

Though sunrise was less than an hour away -- and with it, thankfully, the departure of James' guards -- she was still faced with the dilemma of how to sneak Jack away in broad daylight. She also had to freshen up and change her mussed and soiled clothing before the household came awake to begin their daily chores. Even now, they might already be up and about. Though she was still clean from her recent bath (another blush-inducing memory!), her hair was a tangled mess, and in need of washing and combing.

And she also had an important decision to make. Feeling as she did about Jack, was it fair of her to go through with her wedding to Will? Wouldn't the best ... the most _honourable_ ... course of action be for her to go to Will, and tell him the truth ... confess all, make a clean breast of it, and throw herself on Will's mercy, seek his understanding and forgiveness?

But how could she ever tell him, without breaking his heart and destroying his love for her? Could she risk throwing away nearly ten years of regard and affection, of love, for the sake of unburdening her conscience?

Or should she keep the secret, and proceed as if nothing had happened? Bury the memories of what had transpired between her and Jack, and move on with her life -- a life with Will, as his wife, as his lover? Could she marry Will, and lie in bed with him, let him touch her, make love to her, without thinking of Jack? Without _comparing _Will to Jack?

Or ... was there yet one more option?

Could she possibly do it?

Could she run away with Jack? Avoid facing her father and Will altogether, leave without giving them an explanation? Just disappear from Port Royal, do as she had imagined doing, in her youth, in her most secret dreams ... go to sea, travel the world, indulge in every selfish desire, without having to answer to anybody, without fear of censure or reprobation, without having to bear the burden of guilt that her actions might hurt someone she loved ...

She had to admit that, compared to the other two choices, it was an attractive option. And one she would not be rejecting out of hand ...

* * *

Elizabeth slipped back into the house unnoticed, and made her way to her bedroom. Thankfully, Estrella always refilled the water jug on the washstand in Elizabeth's room before retiring for the night. A quick tidy-up would suffice for her morning _toilette_, and she could always slip the soiled shift, corset, and dress into the laundry bin herself. Since the laundry maid did not collect the garments and linens for cleaning – that duty fell to the housemaids – she would have no way of knowing, if Elizabeth was circumspect, that those items had not come to the laundry in the usual manner.

She had no sooner finished washing and dressing, and stowed the soiled clothing temporarily in the bottom of her wardrobe, for which she held the only key, when Estrella tapped lightly at her door.

"Beg pardon, Miss Swann, but there's been a message delivered for you."

She opened the door. Estrella stood there, still in her night rail and cap, a tattered shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "A message? This early? It's barely dawn! From whom?"

"Some lad delivered it. Said it 'ad been given to 'im, along with a piece-of-eight for 'is troubles and discretion." She glanced at Elizabeth, who stood fully dressed. "'Ere, now," she said, in a slightly chastising voice, "You're not usually up at this hour. If you was plannin' on risin' early, you should have rung and had someone wake me, so I could tend to you ..."

Elizabeth smiled, a bit tersely. "Don't worry about it, Estrella. I had trouble sleeping last night, and decided as long as I was already up, I might as well just wash and get dressed. I didn't see the need of rousing you so early, just because _I_ couldn't sleep ..."

"Well, little wonder you couldn't sleep last night, Miss, wot with pirates spotted offshore! Lily told us all about it ..."

Elizabeth held out her hand. "Estrella ... the note ...?" she said, with a touch of impatience.

Estrella looked down at the folded slip of paper in her hand. "Oh!" She handed it to Elizabeth. "The lad wot delivered it ... 'e said 'e thought the man wot gave it to 'im was a pirate." She smiled and shook her head. "What an imagination 'e 'as! Lily said that Commodore Norrington chased those 'orrible pirates away last night!"

_A pirate! _Elizabeth's heart lurched as she took the note from the maid, thanked her, and closed the door.

As soon as she was alone, she opened the folded sheet of paper, and read its contents.

_"Miss Swann --_

_"We have found and reclaimed that item which we misplaced last night. Thank you for keeping it safe for us, until we could retrieve it and return it to its rightful place._

_"May God Bless and keep you ...  
_

_"J. Gibbs."_

The breath went out of her in a _whoosh_ of air. Shoving the note into the pocket of her dress, she hastened from the room, her heart in her throat ...

* * *

She arrived at the cottage shortly after daybreak, to find it vacant. The bed was empty, and there was no sign of Jack, nor any of his various personal effects. The fire in the grate had been reduced to ashes, now quickly cooling on the hearth. Remarkably, someone had even made an effort to straighten up the cottage, remaking the rumpled bed and hanging the used bath sheets over the chair backs, though the floor was still awash with bathwater, but that, in a few hours, with the onset of daytime heat and the natural process of evaporation, would take care of itself ...

"Jack!" she hissed. "Jack!"

Only silence, and emptiness, answered. She rushed to the back door that opened to the yard pump, and repeated the call, without response. She knew, as Gibbs' cryptic note had intimated, that Jack Sparrow was gone, back to the _Black Pearl_ and on to new adventures ...

She hurried from the cottage, toward the cliffs at the farthest reaches of the grounds. There was a special place she had discovered there, as a child. A spot on the cliffs that afforded her a panoramic view of the harbour, and the sea beyond. She had often gone there over the years to watch the ships come and go, wondering from whence they came and to where they were bound, imagining herself sailing away on one of them to any number of exotic ports-of-call, to find adventure and seek her fortune ...

She went there now, and in the pale morning light, scanned the horizon, looking for the familiar silhouette of black sails against the lightening sky, the ocean breeze whipping her long blonde hair around her like a tattered flag ...

There! Just moving out of sight behind the hulking shadow of the next island ... Though she couldn't make out the details of the ship, Elizabeth knew, in her heart, that it was the _Pearl _...

And it was taking Jack away from her ...

"Jack!" she screamed into the rising wind, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Jack!! Wait for me! Don't go! I ..."

She _what_? _Loved_ him?

Was it true? Though she hadn't intended to say it, is that what she was feeling? Was her heart admitting something that her mind wouldn't allow her to accept?

Preposterous! She hardly knew Jack, and the things she _did_ know about him could hardly endear him to her. He was a dissolute drunkard. An abject coward. A shameless liar. A profligate hedonist and womaniser.

He was a ... a _pirate_.

How could she _possibly_ be in love with him?

When she looked again, the ship was gone. Gone from her sight, and from her life ...

* * *

Elizabeth returned to the cottage with a heavy heart, and started putting things in order. She took the spent bath sheets from the backs of the chairs, and wrapped them into a bundle, along with the used cake of soap. She would have to slip those into the laundry, along with her clothing from last night.

Jack and Gibbs had taken care of draining the tub, and now she dragged it back outside into the pump yard. The water had boiled out of the iron pot before the fire had died, so all that needed to be done was remove it from the cool hearth, and restore it to its original place.

She took the two earthenware jars from the table, and returned them to the cupboard. There was nothing she could do to replace the missing treats, and she hoped that the groundskeeper wouldn't notice, or that he would assume one of the other staff with a sweet-tooth had pilfered them.

She stopped, and searched her fuzzy memory. There had been _three_ jars, hadn't there?

Glancing around the room, she finally spied the third, on the floor next to the bed.

Looking at it, another memory came back to her ... Jack, kissing her, licking sweet syrup from her lips ... from her body ...

She closed her eyes, recalling the feelings associated with the memory ... and her body trembled with remembered pleasure ...

When she opened her eyes, she had banished those memories to the same place as the others. It was useless to think of such things now.

As she bent to retrieve the last jar from the floor, a flash of white caught her eye. Looking more closely, she noticed a slip of paper on the floor, partially obscured behind the jar, its corner tucked under its edge – a note. As she slipped the note from beneath the jar, something dropped to the floor. She saw that it was a silver ring ...

She picked up the ring, staring at it curiously. She recognised it as one of the many that had adorned Jack's fingers -- a signet ring of chased silver, engraved with the figure of a sparrow in flight -- Jack's personal insignia. She shifted her attention to the note, which was scrawled in a bold and somewhat spidery hand:

_"My Dear Lizzie --_

_"Sorry for not sticking around to say goodbye, but when Gibbs arrived, and the opportunity for escape presented itself, I could not pass it by. Experience informs me that such chances rarely present themselves twice, so it behooves one to take advantage of them when they arise. If you would be so kind as to please give my regards to the hangman, next time you see him, I would be most grateful ..._

_"Thank you most kindly for your hospitality, and for taking such excellent care of me whilst I was indisposed. My brain is a mite foggy this morning, and I don't remember much about last night – only something about triplets, a bath (or was it two?), a great deal of rum ... and a few other things too confused and fantastic to possibly be the truth – so I extend my apologies if I should be thanking you – or begging your forgiveness – for something in particular._

_"Should fate allow our paths to cross again, I shall look to you to fill me in on the specifics of last night. _

_"I wish all the best to you and your stalwart Will. I hope your groom-to-be knows how lucky he is in securing such a bounteous treasure._

_"Until next we meet, Miss Swann -- or, as the case may be, Mrs. Turner -- I will remain,_

_"Yr obd't servant,_

_"J.S._

_"P.S. – I have taken the liberty of leaving you a small token of my esteem, with the hope that you will remember me, and last night, as fondly as I shall remember you."_

She sighed, partly with disappointment and regret, partly with relief. Not only had the problem of spiriting Jack away been solved, thanks to Gibbs, but it also appeared her decision regarding Will had been made for her. Jack was gone, to God knew where, and it was unlikely that she'd ever see the pirate again, and thus the secret of what had passed between them would be forever safe as well. Perhaps it was best that she try to forget that it had ever happened, write it off as a temporary madness, or nothing but a strange and wonderful dream ...

But how could she ever forget, when she knew that the memory of last night would always stay with her, until the day she died, burned into her very soul, tattooed onto every inch of her skin that had felt the touch of Jack's hands, his lips, his mouth ...

And though she knew that a part of her went with Jack, and would _always_ belong to Jack -- a part of her that Will would never be able to claim -- her path was now clear.

Nothing would change. Nobody's lives would be disrupted. The wedding would go on, as planned. No one need ever know what occurred here last night. Her reputation, and her father's and Will's high regard, their _love_ for her, would remain intact.

Although she regretted that there would now always be this secret to be kept from Will, she considered it a necessary evil. A burden she, and her conscience, would have to bear, and bear alone ...

After reading it over a second time, she folded Jack's note and tucked it into her bodice, next to her aching heart. Slipping the ring into her pocket, she smiled faintly, with a hint of sadness, and determined to find a suitable chain for it ...

_Goodbye, Jack ... _she thought as tears filled her eyes, _and Godspeed._

* * *


	8. Epilogue

**Rum and Persuasion  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

- Epilogue -

Jack Sparrow stood on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, watching the morning sun rise higher in the sky. He leaned on the rail, lost in thought.

His first mate, Joshamee Gibbs, joined him at the rail. "That was a close one, that was," he said. "T'weren't easy to shake the _Dauntless_ long enough to circle back to get ye. I thought Commodore Norrington had us this time, fer sure."

Jack waved a ring-encrusted hand – now one ring lighter – dismissively. "You needn't have worried, Gibbs. We'll always be able to stay ahead of Norrington. The man does things much too much 'by the book' to be able to get the drop on us. Not very creative, is ol' Norrie. I've never met a man so singularly lacking in imagination. Little wonder Lizzie refused to marry the poor sod."

Gibbs smiled to himself, thinking back to his days when he had been a deckhand on the _Dauntless_, under the command of then-Captain Norrington. "Aye. The feller always was a bit of a stick, make no mistake." He slanted a glance toward Jack, his bewhiskered face softening slightly. "Ye didn't talk much when I was fetchin' you back at daybreak – how did things go, anyway?"

"Everything went exactly accordin' to my plan." His eyes lost focus for a moment as his thoughts strayed to the previous night. "Well, _almost _everything." He frowned.

Gibbs chuckled good-naturedly. "Of course, ye bein' so clean and all, I near didn't recognise ye when I saw yer. Don't think I've ever seen you lookin' so bright an' shiny ..."

Jack grimaced. "Yes, well … whilst I was in me cups last night, I had a bit of a fallin'-out with the dustbin behind the fishmonger's. Or, rather, more like a fallin'-_in_." He gave a rueful smile. "It seems our Miss Swann's delicate sensibilities were offended by the scent of _eau de Poisson_, so whilst I was otherwise indisposed …"

"Passed out drunk, eh?" Gibbs translated.

"… she removed me clothes and Shanghaied me into a hot bath."

Gibbs crooked an eyebrow. "Did she, now?" He chuckled to himself. "Well, dress me in a frilly frock and call me Mary! Good fer her! Now, _that _must've been a sight to see … Though I'm a mite surprised at ye, Jack -- you don't usually let yourself overindulge, particularly when yer placin' yerself in a risky situation ..."

"Yes, well -- I intended to have only enough rum to lend a certain air of verisimilitude to my little performance. After all, I didn't really need to _be_ drunk, I only needed to convince Her Nibs that I was not in full command of my faculties ... to lull her into a false sense of superiority, y'see ... get her to lower her defences. If there's one thing I've learned about our Miss Swann, it's that she likes to feel she has the upper hand in any situation ... even if that advantage is merely an illusion." His voice trailed off.

"Then how did ye end up gettin' so ...?" Gibbs asked.

"Three sheets to the wind?"

"Aye!"

Jack smiled ruefully. "Because I had the misfortune to be recognised right off, almost as soon as I hit port ... by the bloody hangman, no less!"

Gibbs' jaw dropped and his eyes went wide in his grizzled face. "No!"

"Aye! An' the only thing I could think to do -- me not bein' in the mood to off the poor bugger in cold blood ... after all he was only doin' his job by tryin' to hang me; you can't begrudge a man for that -- was take him to a private room at the closest inn, ply him with sufficient amounts of rum and spirits to fuddle his wits, and try to convince him that he had not in actuality seen who he had thought he'd seen."

Gibbs looked confused. "An' couldn't ya do that without gettin' drunk yerself?"

"Well, it occurred to me that it would arouse his already jostled suspicions if he were the only one doin' the drinkin' -- an', him bein' such a massive specimen, and quite well-acquainted with splicin' the main brace himself, it took a _prodigious _amount to get him well and truly soaked ..."

"Couldn't you ... well, just _pretend_ to drink, and dump the rum on the sly?" As Jack fixed him with a penetrating gaze, Gibbs realised what he had just said, and his eyes widened in horror. "Good Lord, did I just advocate the wastage of perfectly good rum?"

"You did."

"I'm sorry, Jack ... I don't know what got into me."

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "Don't trouble yourself, Gibbs. It's already forgotten."

Gibbs looked at him, confused. "Eh? _What_ is?"

Jack frowned. "I don't know. I've forgotten!"

Both men looked at each other, then shrugged.

"An' how did it go with Miss Elizabeth? What happened between you an' her ...?"

Jack sighed. "More than I was expectin', but less than I was hopin' for ..." he said cryptically.

"Meanin'...?" Gibbs pushed.

Jack looked at him quizzically. "Meanin', more than I was expectin', but less than I was hopin' for," he repeated, as if Gibbs hadn't heard him the first time. "Honestly, Gibbs, you need to pay attention ..."

"Oh." Gibbs didn't press the issue further. "Well, if nothin' happened between you and she, how did you pass the time until I fetched ye this mornin'?"

"Well ... said bath, for one. A whole lot of talkin' ... a bit of good-natured arguin' ... a goodly amount of rum-drinkin' -- on _both_ our parts ... and some rather ... _ahem_ ... intimate moments I would prefer not to elaborate on ..."

Gibbs' eyes widened again. "Jack ... you didn't go and get the poor girl drunk, did ye?"

"Mister Gibbs!" Jack exclaimed, his face a mask of outrage. "I'm offended in the extreme that you would even begin to have the slightest inkling of the notion that I would entertain the merest idea of plying our dear Miss Swann with strong spirits for the purpose of gettin' her drunk so I could have me way with her!"

Gibbs' expression was suitably contrite. "Sorry, Jack ... I don't know what I was thinkin' ..."

"I only _offered_ her the rum ... she got _herself _drunk!" Jack finished, a bit defensively.

"So, the -- ah -- 'intimate moments' ... Did you ... did _she_ ...?" Gibbs fished, with a waggle of his bushy eyebrows.

Jack waved an admonishing finger. "Ah-ah! A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Mister Gibbs!"

Gibbs crooked an eyebrow, knowingly. "Ah! So there was kissin', was there ...?"

"Gibbs, I would really prefer not to answer that question when the honour of a lady's reputation hangs in the balance."

"What about Will? Is she still plannin' on tyin' the knot with him?"

When Jack failed to respond, Gibbs turned to find him gazing out to sea, his eyes somewhat unfocused. "Cap'n?" Gibbs asked him with mild concern. "Are ye all right?"

Jack came out of his reverie. "Hmm? What did you say, Gibbs?"

Gibbs was silent for a moment, then went on tentatively. "I only asked, were you able to convince Elizabeth not to marry young Will?"

Jack frowned, and strove to keep his tone flippant. "No. The poor doomed lass is besotted with the whelp. Not much I could do there, I'm afraid. It appears she is determined to surrender herself to the shackles of holy matrimony ..."

Gibbs' mutton-chopped face softened with remembrance. "Aye, Miss Elizabeth always was a headstrong young lady, even as a wee girl. No one could ever tell 'er what to do, or persuade 'er from a course of action once she'd set 'er mind to it." Gibbs sighed and shrugged. "Too bad. I was hopin' this would work out fer ye, Jack. After all, I haven't seen you so vexed by a woman in quite a long time."

Jack shot him a hard look. "I'm not _vexed_, Gibbs ... I'm just ... _interested_."

Gibbs gave him a look rife with scepticism, then shook his head. "Funny, that … she's not the type of gal you usually get a hankerin' for."

Jack turned and fixed him with narrowed eyes. "And just what do you mean by that, Gibbs? That she's too good for me? That she's out of my class?"

"Now, I never said that …"

"Good thing, too, or I'd have to take the cat-o'-nine-tails to you for your impertinence …"

Gibbs merely smiled, knowing that Jack didn't mean it. In all the years he'd known Jack, the worst he'd gotten from him was the occasional slap in the face or a cuff across the head. Jack, unlike many a pirate captain, did not reward loyalty with abuse. "It still begs the question, though … why did ye run the risks ye did last night, put yerself in danger, just to go an' see her?"

"That, Gibbs, is a question I've been askin' meself. I'll let you know when I deign to give meself an answer ..."

"Perhaps I'm oversteppin' here, Jack -- but mebbe it's that she's the first female you've set your sights on who hasn't fallen into the sack with ye at the first flash of yer smile or a wink of yer eye."

Jack sighed and frowned, his expression darkening. "You're right, Gibbs."

Gibbs seemed surprised at Jack's admission. "I _am_?"

"Yes ... you _are_ oversteppin'," Jack said, "... and you're wrong!" Jack strode away.

"But ... well, if she went an' kissed you, Jack, surely she feels somethin' for you, eh?"

"Well, I s'pose I got me answer when I woke up in the mornin' and found her gone, without so much as a poke on the arm or a 'goodbye, Jack' …" he sulked. "And that, after promisin' I wouldn't go an' run off on _her_."

Gibbs shook his head wonderingly. "A touch of irony in that, innit? It's usually _you_ be the one slippin' away from a lady's bed before the crack of dawn …" At Jack's stormy expression, Gibbs went on, encouragingly, "Mebbe she just went to see if the coast was clear …"

"Or maybe I failed to live up to her expectations," Jack sulked on. "I _am_ a legend, you know, and sometimes it's hard to live up to bein' a legend …"

Gibbs eyed him dubiously, with an almost imperceptible roll of his eyes. "Yes ... that must be it, Jack." He clapped a hand companionably on Jack's shoulder, and sighed. "Oh, well ... Ye gave it yer best shot, Jack. At least ye know where ye both stand now, and can move on."

"True enough," Jack said, and Gibbs, who knew him better than just about any man, thought he detected the merest trace of sadness in his voice.

"Speakin' of movin' on ... have ye a new course plotted for us, Cap'n?"

Jack stood up straight, his dark eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "It's long past time we did a bit of good, honest piratin', Gibbs. I hear the merchant trade is especially lucrative down Tripoli way ... quite ripe for the pickin'."

Gibbs looked at him with mild alarm. "But Cap'n, ye know it's comin' on to hurricane season there ... and the _Dauntless_ can't be that far behind us ..."

With a deep sigh, Jack raised himself to full height, and turned to face his first mate, his eyes darkening like twin pieces of flint. "Mister Gibbs, you have me orders! Rouse the crew, and set a course for Tripoli!"

He snapped to attention, and even gave Jack a brisk salute. "Aye-aye, Cap'n ..."

As Gibbs hastened away to obey his captain's orders, Jack climbed the steps up to the wheel deck, and gazed back in the direction of Port Royal, home of one Miss Elizabeth Swann, soon-to-be Mrs. William Turner, Jr.

"Well, Lizzie," he whispered to himself, "I've given you an out, if you choose to take it, by sayin' I don't remember last night -- may God forgive me for that vile falsehood, 'cuz I'll never forget it. The sight, feel and taste of you will always be burnt into me memory, until the day I die.

"But the next step is yours, luv. If you deny what happened between us last night, and go through with your marriage to Will ... then that's all fine an' good, and I'll get on with me life, same as always. Far be it for the likes of Captain Jack Sparrow to lose his head over some slip of a spoiled Governor's daughter! I won't go chasin' after you like some bloody heartsick young pup, luv. As I told you, there are willin' women a-plenty in the world, and Jack won't deny himself the pleasure of their company.

"But if you decide that you want me after all ... if you come after me, and kiss me of your own accord, and offer yourself to me, body, heart, and soul ... then I'll know the fates meant for us to be together, and I'll welcome you to me ship and me bed with open arms." He smiled darkly, "And we'll finish that little dalliance we began last night ... and this time, you won't be tellin' me 'no' ...

"The choice is yours, luv. As it always has been.

"Choose well, my love," he murmured, his face softening, and the moisture in his eyes might have only been from the wind and the salt spray of the sea.

"Choose well ..."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Just a few end notes, for those who have stuck with this story to the end ... (if so, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed it. And many, many thanks to those who took the time to post reviews! Every single one of them is highly appreciated, even, believe it or not, the negative ones)!_

_I know there has been some disappointment expressed by at least one reviewer that I didn't let Elizabeth surrender her virginity to Jack (though, heaven knows, they got to do just about everything else short of that!), and that the story has a pro-Will leaning. _

_This story is meant to be, essentially, a "missing chapter" between CotBP and DMC, and not an "alternate universe" story. As such, it was never my intent to alter any of the basic story as presented in the three feature films (except for choosing to believe that the events in the deleted scenes of CotBP really did take place, mostly because of the depth I think those scenes add to Jack's character). I felt, if the events of DMC are to unfold as they do, with Elizabeth's (interrupted) wedding to Will, I couldn't see how Elizabeth (at least at this point in her character development) would be able to "go all the way" with Jack, and still go through with her wedding to Will, knowing full well that she was no longer a virgin. (The more morally ambiguous Elizabeth at the end of DMC -- the one who could sacrifice Jack to the Kraken -- might have done, and definitely the harder Elizabeth of AWE, but not this version.) By refusing Jack that final step, she could still (in a truly Bill Clintonesque lapse of logic) delude herself into believing that she had NOT, technically, been unfaithful to Will, in the true physical sense. Thus, the wedding goes on (until Beckett forces it to be cancelled)._

_At this point, I feel Elizabeth is still conflicted. She is loath to risk her long-standing relationship with Will, but still clearly is attracted to Jack (which comes more to the forefront in DMC, with the subtle -- and, at times, not so subtle -- flirtation between her and Jack). This is the aspect I wished to more deeply explore in this story._

_Anyway, I hope (at least) some of you enjoyed it! __Love it or hate, please feel free to review!_

_Thank you most kindly!_

_-- Cat_


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